The Boy, The Dog, and the Grease
by AbandonedMelody
Summary: Mary Kate does everything everyone pushes her to; Dallas Winston, notorious hoodlum and bad boy does the opposite when told what to do. They meet, and they hate each other. Is it really hate? Following a crazy dog, a gang of immature boys and hair grease, Mary Kate knows she's in for one hell of a summer.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

It was the first day of summer.

I open my eyes hesitantly, and rub my eyes.

Sitting up, I pause for a moment, just sitting there. Listening.

Music floats through the crack between my door and the floor. Elvis Presley; my sister was probably blaring it while she stopped by for breakfast. I hear yells along with the music, and a small nervous laugh tinkers out of me. My brother was probably yelling at my sister, if I assume right. Telling her to turn off, "that no good, piece of shit music."

I jump to my feet, walking to the door that connects my room to my bathroom. I start the shower, untying my hair from it's messy updo that I slept in. I peel my socks off, putting them in a hamper next to the door, along with the rest of my sleeping clothes, before neatly shutting the top and hopping into the glass-walled shower.

I hum along with Elvis, who I can still hear over a shower _and _people arguing.

Once I was done I got out, the steam following before I grab two towels from beneath the sink. I wrap one in my hair and the other around my body before I start my morning routine.

I put some hair product in my hair so my curls don't look bad later, and brush through my dark, long curly blonde hair.

I walk to the back of my bathroom and open the last door that leads to my closet.

Inside, I flip through all my clothes before I find my outfit for today.

I slip a white shirt with lace detailing off a hook, along with a big, red flowy collared shirt off another hanger, slipping it inside of my skirt so it looks neat. I grab a white bow from under my hair supply drawer, taking out a plain white bow.

I start to french braid my hair, placing the big white bow in the middle of the back of my head. I pulled on the bow to straighten it out. For shoes, I grab a pair of brown sandals.

I walk down the stairs finally, and see my brother and sister arguing.

_That's new, _I think sarcastically.

My sister's face was red with embarrassment and anger, but she kept quiet. My brother, on the other hand, had knocked over what looks like an expensive glass, water spilled all over the ground. His face was red, too; but not with embarrassment. With _rage. _He was always so damn angry.

He was like my mother; so raged filled, he could do anything in his anger. Not to mention he was huge. He had big muscles that equaled twice the amount of muscles my sister and I had combined. All of the muscles, mind you, equal one of his arms.

He towered over my sister and I; and to be honest, it scared me when he was mad. I knew he could beat the heck out of us if he wanted to, but he never did. He vowed to never hit a girl, I remembered. One time when I was five and he was seven, he hit me when we got in an argument. Our daddy had gotten so mad that he didn't allow my brother to have any dessert for the rest of the month, on top of repaying me and saying sorry.

He was roaring so loud I started shaking right there and then, and my eyes started watering. I hated conflict; I avoided it as much as I can. I don't like being mad at people and I don't like people being mad at me. I was quiet; I spoke, yes, but I always was so nervous when people were arguing that I start to cry.

I was too shy, and it isn't something I pride myself in. People used to think that I was too proud to talk to others, and that's why I didn't talk to anyone unless directly spoken to.

As soon as my brother turned around in his rage, he spots me. His voice dies down, but I still shake.

"Mary-Kate," he starts, stepping towards me. His eyes were already starting to show hints of guilt, and I swallow. I step back. Jackson was too intimidating, and it scared me wonders when he was mad. He was just so _large, _it was impossible to not feel small and measily around him.

"No, Jackson," I say. "Just...please calm down."

He nods, and sighs. He rubs a hand over his face, and my sister glares at him, before looking at me. Her face softens.

"You okay, there, Katie-cat?" asks Beth, my sister. Her blue eyes peer at me, wide and concerned.

"Fine," I manage softly. "Just fine." I clear my throat. I don't look at either of them. "I'll go cook breakfast. French Toast and bacon okay?"

Without waiting for a reply, I turn and walk through the door and into the kitchen. I pull out a pan, and stop the music that's coming from the radio in the kitchen. Sometimes I really hate Elvis. Why must he be addicting?

I watch wistfully as I turn it off; Beth and I actually like Elvis Presley, but Jackson hated him. He said "from what he'd heard," Elvis was a snob. He looked like a Greaser, too, the way he had his hair. Jackson wasn't fond of Elvis, and God forbid somebody brought up the Greasers today in a subject.

"The Greasers were poor, dirty hoods," he'd answer in a heartbeat. Anyone in this neighborhood would, with the exception of Beth, Cherry Valance from two doors down, Marcia, and I. Beth and Marcia just didn't care what people had to say about anybody, or themselves, for that matter.

Cherry Valance, who used to be Bob's girlfriend, told me that she talked to a few Greasers once at a drive in movie. She said they were kind, if not respectful and courteous. All except for Dallas Winston, who she said needed to go to hell, which I had scolded her for. She'd just grinned and told me, "He isn't somebody who's even worth calling a human. More like a punishment on Human kind to place upon us."

I frown as I flip the piece of French Toast on the other side to cook. I hadn't talked to Cherry Valance since Bob died-almost a year ago. Sometimes I'll catch a glimpse of her red hair in a crowd at school, but now that it was summer...

_I'll find her and talk to her within the next few days, _I decide. Cherry was always nice; good company, which I don't have much of. Sometimes nowadays I don't believe she does, either. She had a hard time after Bob's death, I know that much. She accepted the fact, but she became harder; crueler, even.

I was done with the French Toast by now, and I walked through a different door I had come in through, and sat it down at the dining room table.

I get out three plates, forks, knives, and napkins, before placing them next to the French Toast and bacon, calling in my brother and sister to eat.

My brother rushed through almost immediately, grabbing a plate off the stack, a fork and knife, and shoving three French Toasts on his plate, and began eating like a starved wolf.

I frown at him, remark "Table Manners," and walk out to get a pitcher of tea from the fridge.

When I return I see Beth and Jackson have eaten all the French Toast. I suppress a sigh, and smile brightly at them. "Pretty good, huh?" I laugh.

"Amazing," they moan.

"You know you make the best French Toast, Mary, do not even get me started," giggles Beth. I laugh with her, before checking the time on a clock we have hanging up.

It was already 11:30 a.m. I decided it's a good time to leave.

"I'm doing a bit of shopping," I tell them. "I'll be back later. Don't wait up for me, if you plan to. I don't know when I'll be back, but I promise to be back before 12:30 a.m. I'm hanging out with a few friends. I've got my own money. Love you!" I give them both a kiss on the cheek.

Beth just nods, but Jackson looks irritated. "12:20 a.m?" he asks skeptically. "A lot could happen by then. Be safe! And don't talk to any boys or else I'll kick their asses."

I arch my eyebrow when he cusses, and he doesn't look the slightest bit regretful. I love my brother, but sometimes he isn't exactly the best, nor the kindest.

"Sure," I agree. As I walk away, I mutter, "Not," under my breath.

He doesn't reply.

When I step outside, I'm greeted by birds chirping and perfectly cut green grass. The trees in our front yard are swaying with the slight breeze, and it even smells like a summer day.

I hear lawnmowers in the distance, I can smell the engine oil that starts them from here, and I feel like just sitting on a bench we have in our small garden and just relaxing.

I know I won't, though; I had business to take care of, and that started with shopping.

Shopping so far was perfect; I had gotten exactly what I had in mind.

At one store I got a white lace shirt, five different colored tank tops, a leather jacket, a golden chain necklace with a bunch of rings in different words on each of them; words like, "Inspiration," or "Faith," or "Trust." My favorite ring said, "Freedom."

I walk out with two bags in my hand, and walk up the street to the shoe shop.

I open the door and go inside, looking around the aisles of shoes and pursing my lips. I walk down a "Women's 4-5," aisle, looking at the shoes. I choose a pair of light brown Sperry's, a type of shoe that was originally made for sailors; I personally liked them because they went with mostly everything I had to wear.

I buy them, place them in the box again, and grab the bag for them. I place the box inside and walk out of the store.

As I walk down the streets I see the judgement in peoples' eyes. It's clear as day. As easy to see as looking through water to see the bottom of the pool.

I frown. My mother had told me that if I didn't go shopping and use up the money I was given for clothes and such by the time she got home, she'd ground me. It's weird, yes, to have parents that force you to buy stuff while a regular teenage girl would jump at the opportunity.

When they first started giving me money for clothes I'd declined and said I didn't need them. Every time they came to me to give me money I would say, "No thank you," and my mother would get upset.

It's like she thought I was acting like I was too good to take her money, or too prideful. Neither of the options were true; I just didn't like the way people looked at me when I show up to school with something new practically every week. I didn't like to be judged, and when I tried to explain to her she'd gotten even more mad.

"Tell them to leave off," she said. "They're just jealous that their parents aren't as wealthy as yours."

I found it an awfully selfish thing to say, but I never told her. I just did like I was told. I always did what I was told.

It was two days before they came home for a week, at the most, before leaving again. They were never here. Sometimes on holidays I'd find myself alone with only my brother to keep me company. It wasn't bad, just lonely. Real lonely.

Sometimes I think to myself that Beth got the good side of the deal. She was the one who didn't have to worry about if her parents were home or not; she had a husband of her own to come home to.

Sometimes I didn't even have someone to come home to, seeing Jackson was always out with his friends playing football, or training, or partying; always something with him. I realized a long time ago I could leave the house for the night and go completely unnoticed. Nobody would care, either. Jackson didn't care unless boys were involved, or if I was upset or mad at someone.

Beth stopped by most during the summer; she was a teacher at a high school in another town where she lived. She didn't have time during the school year to baby us or come over. During the summer when she was let out, she came over almost every morning during the week. Sometimes she'd bring Phillip along with her, her husband.

I didn't mind; not a lot, anyway. Sometimes I'd get sad, though, as I sat on the couch and read, music in the background. I'd spend the nights over with my friends on the weekends if I could. I'd silently envy the way their parents were always there for them, or how their parents nagged them even with friends over.

The movies were great entertainment, and if someone talked about a movie that was cool, I'd most likely go and see it myself.

I look into the shop windows, smiling as I watched the people laughing and enjoying themselves. It was nice to see people happy.

I step into Gigi's Diner-a place I went so much it was practically a second home to me. Every worker in there knew me by name.

When I look around, I smile at all of the happy faces. I listen carefully, and hear The Temptations over the the people.

"Oh, my girl," the jukebox plays out. I laugh; I knew immediately it was Mr. and Mrs. Johnson who had played it-the only older couple on the floor. They were smiling at each other, happy and as beautiful as any couple on the checkered floor. Perhaps even more; I knew their story, from how they met to what Mrs. Johnson gets for the Early Bird special every Sunday.

I drag my gaze across the place, relaxing and just enjoying myself as I take everything in.

A head with red hair catches my eyes; they belong to the head of a slim girl wearing a blue and white dress. Cherry Valance, I realized.

_Should I go over and say hi? _I ask myself.

I didn't want to be rude and drag Cherry away from her friends; she was grinning and laughing like the old Cherry. It makes me smile, just the thought that for a split moment she was back to herself.

I finally decide that I'll go over, and start my path towards them. The workers and waitresses call out hello to me, smiling, and I grin back and greet them in return.

When I finally reach Cherry's table, i've noticed it got quieter. Silent, even, at the table as they stare at me.

Cherry was sipping on a vanilla milkshake, and when she looks up at me her eyes widen. Her mouth withdraws from the milkshake, and she grabs a napkin to wipe off excess milkshake from her cheeks and chin. A grin suddenly shines through, her eyes crinkling in the corners.

"Mary Kate!" she practically screams, slipping out from the booth faster than you could say the word "spit," and tackling me in a huge hug before I even had the chance to set down my bags.

She was practically suffocating me. She lets out, still grinning like the Cheshire Cat in the "Alice in Wonderland," play I once saw.

I laugh. "Sit down, please, you're gonna suffocate me if you don't!"

She did as she was asked, laughing. I've noticed by now that the boys are watching, and in spite of myself, I blush. I didn't get much attention from boys. It was always nerve-racking whenever they look at me.

"Tell me, Mary, how are you?" Cherry asks. I set my bags down at at my feet, standing next to the edge of their table.

"Good," I say. "You look...great. Happy." I arch an eyebrow at her, silently telling her what I really meant.

Her lips are set in a straight line by now as she takes my words in. My eyes flicker around the table at the boys. Cherry's friends were _boys. Boys!_

"Yes," she finally decides. "I've been doing great," and then her eyes look at a younger boy for one moment before returning to mine. "Oh, sit down, silly girl," she adds, shifting over.

I look down, embarrassed. "I don't have to sit with you guys, if you'd rather me not. I mean, you know me, but it's rather rude to me to invite myself to sit at a table." I look at all the boys again, my cheeks burning red.

"My apologizes for even coming over in the first place," I tell them respectfully. "I just saw Cherry and I haven't seen her in a while. I look around, and my hands are on the hem of my skirt, tugging on it. "I should probably go..."

"Nonsense," cries Cherry. "I haven't seen you, either, Mary Kate," she adds with a meaningful expression across her face.

I immediately look away, and clear my throat. "Yes, well," I clasp my hands. "I'm sorry for that. I promise to start stopping by every once in a while to say hello. Perhaps we could see a movie or something and catch up, Cherry."

She arches her eyebrow, and turns away from me to face the boys. "Do you all mind if my friend here joins in?"

I was greeted by a huge sayings of, "Not at all,", "Of course not!", "Why ain't she sitting down already?"

And then the worst one: "Of course I mind," in a biting voice.

My head snaps in the direction of the voice, and I look at who had said it.

When I did, I didn't expect my heart to drop.

He was a tuff-looking boy with high, beautiful high cheekbones. He had a pointed chin, and an elfish face. It was still handsome, to me at least. He had white-blonde hair, which curled around his ears, and tufted out in the back. His blue eyes were what caught my attention, however.

They were an icy blue, clear and frozen over like I imagine water in Antarctica would be. They had a sparkle to them; but not in a good way. In fact, in a horrid way, one that made my skin crawl and lit up on fire at the same time. Just looking into his eyes made me want to do bad things; to scream, to rebel, to get into a fight with someone. To slap him across the face, to scream; but then to cry and tell him that he's the reason why I felt so screwed up.

I swallow and look away. I felt his gaze continue to burn into me, even when I was looking away.

_Run and hide! _I scream at myself.

Instead, when Cherry gets out of the booth and offers me a seat next to her, but also next to the captivatingly angered boy, I did the dumbest thing I'd ever done.

I took the seat next to him.

**I don't own the , I do have an obsession with Dallas Winston. Yeah. Enjoy. Read and Review for me, maybe? Thanks. **


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

As soon as I fully sit down, I've realized two things:

1) This was a really bad idea. I could hear my heart thumping so fast in my ears, that I feared it would explode. He smelled like cigarettes and mint, and I could practically hear his smirk. I didn't have to look at him to even know he had that devilish grin on his lips. Everything felt like electricity; everything was scaring me. _He_ terrified me. And,

2) He was probably dying to kill me.

I sat there, swallowed again, and sat up right, my feet crossed at the ankles under the table. My hands were in my lap, and I left my gaze on them.

I could feel a stare suddenly burning into my head. I wish I had left my hair down this morning so it would give me a shield. My cheeks burned red, and I could hear a low chuckle-one that only I could hear.

"Hey, babe," says a voice.

It was him. My head snaps up, my face on fire.

I nod, but don't look at him.

I hear footsteps, the clinking of high heels. I look up to see Miss Belle, a young waitress, at the head of the table, looking over all of the people before smiling at me. I smile faintly back. I hope I didn't look too red.

"Why, if it ain't Little Miss Mary," she drawls. A large grin on her face, she pulls out her notepad. "What would you like to drink, darlin? Pepsi Cola? Sweet Tea, as usual? Or a Coke?"

"I'll take a Tea, please," I reply.

"Coming right up," she replies quickly, practically racing away to the next customer.

"I'll take a Tea, please," mimics the boy. I blush, and frown a little. I don't look at him, still; I fear if I do I wouldn't be able to look away.

I scold myself mentally for thoughts like that. _Mary! You do not like him, nor will you ever. If you ever even liked a boy like that, imagine what your parents would say! _

"What? No reply, again?" he teases. I feel something touch my braid, lightly tugging on it. With a flash of thought, I realize it was him.

My face is redder than I'd ever had it.

He sighs, and I feel him move closer to me; his breath washes over my face. He definitely had a beer a while ago; his breath has a huge smell of mint and candy in it, though. It was a nice combination.

_No! _I scream at myself. _No, it's not! _

"You need to talk, sweetheart," he breathes in my ear. I shiver, in spite of myself, ducking my head. I hear a laugh, and someone say, "Dallas..."

I look up to see an older man with an eyebrow cocked at Dallas, a disapproving look on his face. He was looking at the boy.

Dallas. Dallas was the name of the boy. The charming, the pissed off-looking boy who seems to think it's fun to tease me.

"Aw, Darry," Dallas replies. "I'm just having fun," and he sends me a wolfish grin.

I swallow. I've noticed I've done this about five times in the last two minutes, and I needed to stop before someone catches my nervous habits.

"Dally," the man warns. "Leave the poor girl alone. You're probably scaring her."

Dally turns to me lazily, almost drunkenly, and breathes, "Do I scare you?" against my warm cheek.

I nod.

He laughs; it's probably one of the most seductive sounds I've ever heard. He has a smirk on his face. His blue eyes are calculating, watching my every movement.

"Good," he whispers in my ear.

I look down at my hands, which are still folded neatly. He tugs on my braid again.

"Leave me alone," I beg meekly, although a part of me wants to take that back immediately and just let him do whatever he wants. My whole body lit up whenever he touched it-even so much as pulled on my braid, or talked to me.

It terrified me.

Dally was the type of person, I decided, who could make you feel like _you _ were the one who did something wrong, not him. He was the type of person who, if asked you to jump off a bridge, you'd hesitate before answering no. He was the type of person who made me scared to the core of my bones, simply because he made me want to do whatever he wanted, and I would more than likely do so.

"I'd rather not," he whispers to me. His voice is husky, and it made my whole body explode into fire. I swallow again. "I'd rather annoy you; I'd rather be there to terrify you then not know you."

Yep. I was definitely blushing now.

He strokes my braid through his fingers. "Your hair is soft," he tells me. "I wonder what else is..."

I let out a soft sound; it was an indignant sound, something I rarely do. I didn't mind it if he joked, but that was somewhere where I called the lines.

"Too bad you'll never find out," I tell him. For a minute I hate my soft voice; I wasn't good at looking mad at someone. Jackson told me when I was mad I looked like a kitten who thinks they're a tiger. "Besides, you don't want to make my brother mad, if he figures out about this somehow."

He whistled. "Oh, I'm so scared of him," he says boredly. "Terrified. You've got me shaking in my boots."

My face floods. He turned my own word against me, I realized. I think he gets a kick out of making me look stupid.

"You're blushing," he notes. His index fingers drags slowly up my cheek softly. His hands were calloused.

"Stop," I demand softly.

"No," he replies. mimicking my soft voice.

I clear my throat. _Just ignore him, Mary, _I think. _He purposely rubs you the wrong way. Think about how many girls he's said the same thing to. _

"So, Cherry," I say, turning to her. I feel him scoot even closer to me. Without turning around I knew he was smirking. "How've you been?"

She looks up from her cheeseburger, chews, and replies. "Great, actually. I've been hanging out with these boys here for a while now. I think this is all I'm gonna be doing this summer," she gestures to all of them. "And hanging out with Marcia, and you, of course."

She looks behind my shoulder and frowns. I hadn't realized that Dally was practically looming over me, watching us talk.

"Dallas Winston, mind your own beeswax," she orders at him.

"I'd rather not," he replies slyly. "I heard you mention the boys. That includes me, now doesn't it?"

She rolls her eyes. "No. You ain't no boy; just a pest."

He acts offended, before laughing. "I've been called worse. You should pick up some new insults."

She scowls at him, before turning back to me and ignoring him like I was. "Don't mind him," she tells me. "But, what are you doing?"

"I'm staying around here, really. That's the only thing, for all I know. Relax and hang out around town."

She nods, "Same here."

"I really want to go see the movie 'Devil Doll,'" offers a new voice to our conversation. Cherry and I turn to the table to see who voiced this.

He was younger than me; probably the youngest boy at the table. He has dark blonde hair, the roots of his hair turning brown. He had his hair greased back, like every other boy at this table, and gray eyes that have seemed to see too much. They were still alight with happiness, though.

"You're Ponyboy Curtis," I say matter-of-factly, surprised to have finally met him in perfect.

Back when Bob was alive, about a year ago, he would talk about the Curtis brothers spitefully every time I saw him. I didn't really say anything back; I always thought the fight was pointless.

When I read about him in the newspaper, I felt proud; it was nice to know there were still people like Ponyboy Curtis-people who did things out of the kindness of their hearts. No matter how crazy it was, I thought he was a very brave boy.

"I am," he grins at me. "And I didn't catch you name, what is it, ma'am?" It was astonishing to see someone with manners.

I was raised around people who hated Greasers, so I never thought they might have manners. Low, I knew, but I didn't actually _know _what they were like until I read the article about Ponyboy Curtis and Johnny Cade.

"No need to call me ma'am," I tell him. "I'm only two years older than you," I let out a light laugh. "I'm Mary Kate Roberts, but please just call me Mary. Nice to meet you, by the way," I tell him, reaching across the table to shake his hand. My arm barely met halfway. I hated being short.

His lanky arm stretched across easily, and we shook. "Sure thing, Mary," he laughs. "Nice to meet you, too." He smiles cheerfully at me.

I smile back at him. His smile was contagious. He seemed the dreamy kind-the one with a big imagination, and I pitied him for being stuck in a town as small as this.

"That movie looks good," agrees Cherry as my arm falls back into my lap. "But scary." She nudges me, smirking. "Mary here wouldn't be able to see it," she laughs. "She's terrified of scary things."

I blush. "You try being alone the night after you go watch 'Dementia 13,' that your friends dragged you to!"

"Dementia 13 wasn't even that bad," butts in Dally. "It was a piece of cake to watch. A little boring."

_How was it _not _scary?! _I think. _It was _terrifying!

I must've looked shocked, because Dally chuckled. "You're just so tiny that you couldn't handle it, probably, Tiny," he laughs.

It was a real laugh. Not a chuckle, a laugh. I felt myself in awe at how beautiful he was, even if I refused to look at him. I did this time, though; he still had the permanent smirk, his eyes crinkled in the corner when he laughed. His blue eyes glowed; they still contained rage and anger, but they looked softer; from the hardest metal to a softer metal, if I had to explain it. Still hard, though; still seemingly invincible.

"Did you just call me Tiny?" I ask him. Everyone calls me that. I don't think I've gone by a day at school, sometimes even at home,without being called small. Sometimes it gets on my nerves-makes me insecure when I look at girls like Cherry, who were the perfect height.

"Yep," he agreed. "'cuz you are."

I frown and return to my sweet tea, that Belle had given me about five minutes ago.

"How tall are you, even?" laughs Cherry who listened in.

"5'0," I reply.

Everyone at the table started laughing.

"You're only five foot?"

"Oh, wow, she must look like a midget next to you, Dar."

"She'd look short next to anyone."

I resist the urge to roll my eyes to cover my embarrassment. My cheeks were pink; they seemed to turn that color a lot tonight.

"Yes, yes," I put in jokingly. "Let's all make fun of the short girl."

"Sorry, Mar," laughs Cherry. "But you _are _short. I'm 5'6, and it's just funny to see short people."

I sigh. "I know," I grumble.

_Dang shortness, _I think grudgingly to myself.

"I'm 6'1," brags Dally. I frown. Why must some people be so tall?

"Nice to know," I say.

He laughs, "Oh, don't get in a huff, Tiny."

Whenever he spoke to me I felt excited.

_He gave you a nickaname!_ I think to myself, cheerfully.

_Cheerful? Really, Mary? Get a hold of yourself. _i order myself.

I decided to remind myself of all of the girls he's had to distract myself.

_He doesn't like you, you don't like him. He's playing you. Just like..._

I grit my teeth, and bite down on my straw, sucking up the tea as fast as I can. I hope nobody noticed.

The rest of the night there's chatter all around. Dally is a conceited, angry, mad man is what I take away by the end of the night.

I finally decide it's time to go home.

I couldn't take being there anymore; Cherry was the only one who seemed to care about my change in mood, but then again, she was the only one who knew me well enough.

"I'm going home," I announce out loud.

Cherry frowns. "Alright. did you drive here?"

I laugh. "No," I tell her. "But I'll be fine walking home."

Sodapop Curtis pops into the conversation. "Just because there's peace right now still don't mean it's safe," he tells me. "Especially for a young girl to be walking around here by herself. I'd rather not see someone get hurt."

Cherry scoots out of the booth, so I can get out, when I hear a voice speak up.

"I'll take her," offers Dally.

Sometimes, I really want to scream.

Now is one of those times.

"No, no," I say quickly-too quickly, in fact. "I'm fine to walk by myself."

He rolls his eyes, but scoots out after me. I resist the urge to shove him back into the booth.

"Don't be silly, Tiny," he tells me. "If a big, bad man comes out from the alley, what would you do?"

I hate it when people are right.

I sigh, and pick up my bags. "Fine," I say, wanting to avoid conflict.

"Good," Cherry says approvingly that I was walking home with someone now. "I'm only doing this because I care," she adds with a laugh. She gives me a hug before slipping back into the booth. "I'll see you around soon."

I nod. "Sure thing," I tell her. "But I'll be busy the next three days. My parents are coming back."

"Of course," she agrees. "But we're hanging out soon."

It was an order, a demand; and I liked hanging out with Cherry Valance.

"Mhm," I agree. "Well, it was nice to meet the rest of you," I add with a smile in their direction.

"Same here," Ponyboy tells me. "See you around sometime."

I nod, turn around, and head out.

Dally Winston was walking next to me.

He actually held the door open for me, and I said a quiet thank you before walking out into the humid summer night.

The street lights are one, people still out walking around, and eating dinner outside at tables.

Music floats around through the air, and a small breeze blows by every once in awhile. It was pretty; peaceful, light, and for a minute I regret saying I had to go home.

"Do you need some help with those bags, Tiny?" asks Dally, amused as we walk down the road.

"No, I'm fine," I say quiet;y.

He rolls his eyes, and pulls out a cigarette, lighting it as we walk in silence.

I find myself not minding the company of Dally Winston-at least, when he's quiet.

The thought amuses me for the rest of the walk.

**unedited chapter 2. feel free to point out any mistakes! thank you all. I dont own the outsiders. enjoy.**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

In the last hour I've learned several things; Dallas Winston has the quickest temper out of anyone I know, and that he doesn't offer to carry anyone's bags unless he wants to get in your pants. Or, at least according to Marcia, and Cherry, that is.

I lay there in my bed, staring at the ceiling, my heart pounding.

I feel like I'm about to pass out; I knew Dallas Winston was a bad boy and a player, but it still hurts to think about him in a cruel way.

I've known him for less than one day, and he already had my heart pounding. I've read about it in all the books, but it still hurts when it happens to you because, well, it happened to you you you. I feel like crying and screaming at the same time.

_I hate him, I hate him, I hate him_, I think to myself. I run a hand through my hair. I am such an _idiot_ to have _Dallas Winston_ of all people walk me home! I should've screamed no and ran like there's no tomorrow. God, I am so stupid.

I close my eyes, and remember what happened...

_The walk home was interesting._

"_Hey, Mary," Dally purrs. I look at him, trying not to blush just by hearing his voice. Truth be told, I practically craved it—which wasn't a good thing to me. It was already scaring me._

"_Yes?"_

_He doesn't reply. He just smirks._

_We were in a dark alley way, and part of me was freaking out. I tried not to show my anxiety but alas, it did._

_He steps closer to me, and I step back. It was like I wanted to scream at him and push him away, but also draw him closer. It was scaring me by now; it was possible that Dally could get what he wanted and walk away. _

_He was type of danger I craved._

_It was like an adrenaline rush–sudden, fast-paced, electrifying throughout your whole body, and made your heart thump like a racehorse. It was like I was a racehorse; I was waiting for the call, waiting in the hooks to be unleashed. Trying to find a way out but not wanting to at the same time, because the abuse was beautiful._

_He steps forward again; I step back. He chuckles, a low noise. I step back without him stepping forward this time; it was like I was being trapped._

_Which I was._

_I mentally curse and cheer at the same time as he steps closer. My breathing quickens, and I know it's probably loud and annoying. I didn't care at the moment, though I would be embarrassed later, as Dallas Winston steps forward._

_He kept taking his sweet time, closing in on me. It was like I was drowning and he was the ocean; it was like I was a gazelle and he was a wolf. I was his prey, his victim—and willingly._

_He steps forward one last time, and he standing right in front of me. There's a tiny gap of distance. I continue to look down at the ground. I could feel his breath on my head; I could feel his face, looming right over mine._

"_Mary," he whispers. I look up at his face. _

"_What?" I whisper back._

_He leans his head closer to me. "Scared of me yet?"_

_I swallow. "No," I tell him. "I'm...terrified."_

_He smirks, "We should keep it that way."_

_He draws his hand up and down my cheek, like he did in the diner. "Only known me for a day," he says softly. "And you're already scared of me."_

_I don't reply; I didn't know what to say. Instead, I study him._

_His blue eyes are unfocused, and a little wild; they scare me ten times as worse as usual, the fire of hatred still burning._

_He shoves away from me. "God," he laughs. "Johnny, goddamnit. Johnny. Johnny was scared of what I could do, too." He runs a hand through his blonde hair._

_I stay silent; I don't know what to say._

_He turns back to me. "God, I _hate _people like you," he spits. "So damn innocent. Makes me want to screw it up. God. I fuck everything up, so you better not think that you're so damned special because I was teasing with you at the diner. Do it with every good-looking broad I see."_

_I feel something appear in the back of my eyes; water gathering at the corners. _

Don't cry, _I tell myself. _You don't even know him.

"_I'm a selfish bastard, and it'd be good of you to remember that," he grins devilishly. _

_In that moment I'm stricken by him; falling even deeper into a hole of temptation that was made as soon as I met him. His blue eyes were wide, and pissed. His body was tense, like a tiger before pouncing._

"_Walk yourself home," he finally spits out. He turns and walks away._

_I stay there, the blow finally hitting. Dally was leaving, and I knew that he would. He doesn't seem the type to follow through with plans someone told him to. _

_So I stand upright, grab my bags, and walk home._

_And away from Dallas Winston._

I hadn't realized it, but I fell asleep when I was thinking about the whole ordeal.

When I do wake up, sunlight is streaming through the windows; I check a clock on the wall, and it shows 11:00 am. I rub my eyes, and stay there, resuming to staring at the blank ceiling.

I finally decide last night isn't worth moping over, so I get to my feet. I rub my face over once with my hand, and go to the bathroom. I hop into the shower, wash my hair and face, and walk into my closet.

I drop the towel to my feet and grab my favorite yellow dress with blue flowers. I slip on my undergarments and put the dress on. I mentally curse when I remember the back is with tiny pearl buttons that you have to slip through the whole. I was about to take it off and find another dress, when I hear a loud voice call out,

"Hello? Mary? You home?"

It was Cherry.

I mentally thank God, and call out as loud as I can, "Upstairs in my room!"

I hear a door open, and footsteps come my way. Cherry pokes her head in the bathroom, and sees me struggling.

She giggles, and smiles. "Turn around, I'll do it for you."

"Thank you," I sigh gratefully. I turn around and feel her cool, nimble fingers button it up.

"There you go," she tells me with a pat on the back. I turn around and nod my head in thanks, and Cherry studies me.

"Sit down," she says, patting a salon-like chair I kept in front of one of the sinks. I sit down and she grabs the brush, dragging it lightly through my hair but hard enough to get rid of any knots.

When she was finishing she grabbed the mousse spray, put it in her hand and rubbing it through my hair for me, scrunching up my light curls even more.

"There you go," she says lightly, putting the container down.

I smile at her. "Thanks," I tell her. I disappear back into my closet, grabbing white flats and coming back out.

"Well, you sure look good today," she tells me, with a wink. We both laugh, and I curtsey.

"Thank you," I laugh.

"I thought your parents came home tomorrow..?"

"They do," I agree.

"Then why are you all dressed up?" she nudges me. "Gotta hot date?"

I laugh and hold my hands up in surrender. "You've caught me red-handed. I've got a date."

"Oooh," she drawls. "Who?"

"It's with..."

"Who?!"

"...the stores."

She rolls her eyes, and slaps my arm lightly. "You're funny."

"I just have to shop for my parents' return. I want the house to look nice."

She nods. "Need help? I know what you mean."

"If you want to," I shrug. "It'll be boring."

"With me, it'll be fun," Cherry tells me in a very matter-of-fact tone.

I laugh. "Sure," I tease. "Ten times as better."

She nods, a smile on her face. "Indeed."

I grab my purse, and she grabs hers, which she brought with her over here.

She was wearing a light green dress, her pale skin, and green eyes popping out in a pretty way.

"I like your dress," I tell her kindly.

"Thanks," she replies. "I like yours, too. Where'd you get it?"

"My parents got it for me," I say softly. "They got it for me right before they left a month ago."

Cherry doesn't reply, just nods. She pulls down her black sunglasses, and we hop into my car-a Chevy Corvette Sting Ray. My parents got it for me for my 16th birthday, which was a few months ago. It was a light blue, and I kept it clean.

Cherry whistles. "I like it," she tells me. "Very beautiful car. I saw it whenever I passed by, and I thought to myself, 'Little Miss Mary all grown up, already got herself a car.'" She grins cheekily at me.

I have to laugh.

While she starts up the radio, and Elvis comes out. She laughs. "Still love him?" she asks.

"Of course," I reply. "The King is my favorite."

I didn't tell her, but it warmed my heart to know that Cherry Valance, whom I hadn't talked to in _months, _remembered how much I liked Elvis Presley. The little things were the biggest things to me; with no one ever home but me, it was nice every once in awhile for someone to care enough to remember something small about me.

We drive off, and Cherry and I take turns singing a line, singing every other line.

"You ain't nothing but a hound dog," she sings.

"Crying all the time," I sing back.

"You ain't nothing but a hound dog," Cherry replies.

"Crying all the time."

"You ain't never caught a rabbit, and..."

"You ain't no friend of mine!" I finish.

We start laughing hysterically, and I turn into "Janie's," a store that had practically _everything _anyone would ever need.

We hop out, and I lock the door and place the keys into my purse.

I open the door and hold it open for Cherry to walk in, and a few businessman to walk out from.

"Why, thank you, ma'am," one man says, surprised.

"No problem, sir," I reply, and shake his hand that was outheld before walking inside.

Cherry and I walk down the aisles until I find one of the things I was looking for; a new glass, seeing Jackson broke one just yesterday. It was weird to think it happened just yesterday-it felt like days ago. It was even weirder to think Dallas Winston had almost walked me home last nig-

_Don't think about him. Don't think about him. Don't! _I scream at myself. It was like my body was at war; part of it wanted to see Dallas Winston again, and the other didn't. The other wanted to scream in terror just at the mention of his name. He terrified me, but he drew me in at the same time. It was the first time this had ever happened with someone, and it left me shaking in my dress.

"Hey, you okay?" asks Cherry worriedly. I blink, coming back to reality, and force a smile.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I lie. "Just worried about my parents coming home tomorrow."

She nods, understanding, "Yeah, I get that way too. But, my parents usually don't go away as long..."

She flinches suddenly, realizing her words. "Mary, I didn't mean it like that! Oh, golly, I'm so sorry! Come on, don't be mad at me, please!" Worry filled her eyes.

It didn't make me upset; I was used to it by now, if someone came over and asked where my parents were. I didn't really care what they had to say about my parents never being home; sure, it hurt that they weren't there, but I didn't mind it. Or, at least, I tried not to.

"It's fine, Cherry," I say warmly. It made me feel happy that she seemed _scared _if I was mad at her, like she needed me as a friend. "I understand what you meant."

She nods, swallows, and we go back to shopping. She still seems worried, and she seems hesitant to reply, as if I were glass that could shatter at one misplace.

_Because you are, _a voice in the back of my head whispers.

I push it to the back of my head; the back of my head were thoughts of a blue-eyed, raging, broken-seeming boy was, also.

"I'm hungry," Cherry complains. "Can we eat?"

I look up from placing the bags in the trunk. She was standing next to me, handing me stuff as I put it away.

I look at a clock around my neck-a clock necklace that I had gotten from Beth for a holiday. It was 12:30.

"Sure," I chirp, as I place the last bag in. I close the trunk, and we got back in the car. "Where do you want to go?"

"How about Dairy Queen?" she suggests. She pats her stomach. "I could use a burger."

I laugh, but agree; burgers _did _sound good.

I drive into the parking lot, and as we wait in the line I turn up the music.

"_Warden threw a party at the county jail,_

_The prison band was there and they began to wail,_

_The band was jumpin and the joint began to swing,_

_You should've heard them locked-out jailbirds sing..."_

"Speaking of jailbirds..." mutters Cherry suddenly after we ordered. She nods her head in a direction of a truck.

Oh, no.

The Greasers.

**I don't own The Outsiders. Read and Review? Thanks darlings xD Thanks for all the views, by the way. Although I wish I owned Dally. gah. WHY MUST PERFECT BOYS ONLY EXSIT IN BOOKS ASDFGHJKL just sayin...if i ever met a boy like dally it would make my life haha. fail, i know. **


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

I started hyperventilating; it was dumb of me, but I couldn't help it. I was having a panic attack. They were coming over _here_. As in, to see _us_.

"Mary," Cherry frowns. "It's all okay. What's wrong?"

"Dally," I gasp. I try to stay quiet as they get closer and closer. I was internally screaming; begging Cherry to let me hit the gas like there's no tomorrow. I wasn't going to be selfish, however; they were Cherry's friends, and all the rest of the boys seemed like good people.

But Dallas Winston...God.

I don't think I could face him again for months. He was so petrifying.

I start hyperventilating faster.

"Mary?" Cherry asks. "Are you okay? You don't look too good..."

"Hey, Cherry! Hey, Mary right? From last night. Cherry got out of the car. I didn't. I couldn't; I was probably looking like an idiot, but after what happened with Dallas and what happened with Hank, I couldn't let it happen again.

Oh, God. Everything was dizzy. I felt the overwhelming urge to pass out, and I felt cold. I think I was shaking, but I couldn't tell.

"Mary," Cherry calls. Worry is laced in her voice.

I get out of the car, trying to breathe in the fresh air; it would help with my panic attack, right? That's what the doctor said, but that was last year and I didn't remember.

I made my way around on wobbly feet. I felt like crying and falling down. I was shaking, I was sure now.

I stand next to Cherry, looking down at the ground; I wouldn't–I couldn't look at the boys when I was panicking.

I finally look up, wanting to breathe normally. I took a deep breathe in, and out. I look at all of the boys and Cherry. I hope I looked normal, and not like I was panicking.

"You look as white as a sheet of paper," frowns a boy. What did he say his name was last night? Two-Bit?

"Are you sure you're okay, Mary?" asks Cherry worriedly.

"I'm fi–" I begin; my voice was shaky and weak, and I just couldn't damn stop.

A voice interrupted me.

"Hey, babe," I look around wildly. It was Dallas Winston in front of me. I stare at him, and I stumble forward—not purposely—and black out right in Dallas Winston's arms when he catches me.

Everything is black; it was like I was trapped. It scared me; I didn't want to be stuck like this forever.

Then I hear voices speaking.

"God, Dally," says a biting female voice. "You made her _faint. _What the hell is wrong with you? Do you enjoy making people so scared of you they shiver in their shoes?"

Cherry.

"I didn't mean to!" cries back another voice.

Dally.

"Well you did!" snaps Cherry. "And look at where this has gotten us! In a _hospital room, _waiting for an _innocent, sweet girl _to come back to consciousness! How does that make you feel? Anymore powerful?"

"You don't know a damn thing about me," growls Dally. I shiver at the sound of his voice, and for a second, the room goes silent and even through darkness I can feel their eyes on me.

"She's a good person," Cherry Valance says. "She's a good girl. She hasn't been tainted yet. Don't you _dare _ruin that. If you do, even by talking at her, or making her any more scared than she is, I will _kill _you."

"Oh, no," Dally says. His voice is an exaggerated type of scared; he was acting. And for that moment I hated him because he was invincible and it wasn't fair. "You're gonna call the cops."

"Don't you _dare _go and make fun of me," hisses Cherry. "I'm watching out for this girl from here on out. And if you think you can go _anywhere _near her, or harm her in any way, think again."

"First of all, sweetie, I don't even like her. I wouldn't _want _to talk to her; I don't even have an excuse to if I wanted to. Second of all, there is no reason to get in a hissy fit over a girl that doesn't even know what the hell is going on around her at the moment."

A silence falls between them, and I struggle to open my eyes.

When I open my eyes, all the feelings in my body rush into me.

Fear. Anxiousness. Sorrow. Guilt. Pain. Embarrassment.

I let out a cough; my throat was all dry, and it tasted like rubber gloves. "Someone?" I call out meekly, acting disoriented. I attempt to sit up, and a gentle hand push me back down.

"Mary," says Cherry, relief evident in her voice. "Are you okay? Do you need the Doctor?"

I shook my head. "I'm fine," I lie, but wince. I felt so shaky still- after effects, I knew.

"You don't look so good," Cherry says nervously. "How about I go get you something to drink? Maybe it'll help. Doc said it had something to do with lightheadedness according to your history; he said to keep you hydrated. Orange Juice, he said, for iron."

I nod lightly, sinking farther into the hospital bed. So uncomfortable; I lay my head on a pillow, and pull my hand from under the blankets. I look at it, confused, and then cringe when I see I have an IV in my hand.

I hear a chuckle, and see Dally watching me, amused.

"Glad to know you find this funny," I snap suddenly. I can feel my eyes glaring.

_Holy..._I think to myself shocked. _I just was rude to someone. _

I slam my good hand over my mouth, my eyes wide. I felt a rush of shame. "I'm sorry," I start. "I'm just tired and..."

He was laughing. _Laughing. _

Hysterically, in fact; his face was a light red, a lazy grin across his face as he laughed.

"God," he says once he's done laughing. He started clapping, watching me with the same smirk. "Good one, Tiny," he tells me. "Finally standing up for yourself. Next we'll work on growing tall."

He was insulting me about my comebacks _and _my height. While I was in a hospital bed; but that wasn't the funny part. The funny part was he actually was so damn _selfish, _but I wanted to kiss him at the same time.

_Kiss him?! NEVER! _I wanted to bang my head against the wall. I wanted to disappear just for those thoughts. Even if he couldn't hear them, it still made me blush just at the thought. The thought of leaning forward one day, and looking at his full lips, and then taking mine and...

A rush of energy and warmth flash through my body, and I stare at my bed sheets.

"Aw, Tiny is blushing again," he cooes, coming to stand next to my bed. Damn attractive lazy smirk. My cheeks flood even deeper.

He leans forward, bending over the hospital bed. "Wanna know something Tiny?"

"What?" I whisper.

His face is next to mine, and he whispers in my ear, "It was surprising to know that I scare people that much," his voice was husky.

My heart monitor picks up. His chuckle picks up again. "Tiny," he says softly, shaking his head.

_Damn seductive Dally, _I think with a frown.

"Stop, Dallas," I say softly, and remove his hand from my arm. "Stop."

He shivers slightly. I pretend not to notice, but his eyes dark. A look of fear passes through them, only to be placed with anger.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" he yells suddenly. "Who made you do this?"

My eyes widened. "Do what?"

"You fucking _know _what you're doing," he snaps. "Making me open up to try, at least. It's not going to happened, goddamnit." He pulls something out of the inside pocket of his inside pocket- a half empty bottle of whiskey, it looked like. Then I realize the room smelt faintly of beer, as did he.

I swallow, and shake my head. He switched so fast; one second he was making you think he wanted you, the next he was screaming at you.

Cherry comes back, seeing Dally drinking, and put the drink on my tray angrily. "Get the hell out," she spits through gritted teeth.

Dallas glares at her, and takes another sip slowly, gloatingly.

"I'm Dallas Winston; I'll do whatever the hell it is I want. Deal with it."

"Now, Dallas," Cherry says in a low, yet terrifying voice. "Get!"

Dallas smirks suddenly. "And who's gonna make me?"

Cherry swallows. I know she's nervous, and I was, too.

The door suddenly slams open, and there's a new voice.

"I am," snarls my brother. He glares at Dallas, a deep hatred evident in his eyes. Did they have some past history or something?

"Why if it isn't Jackson," cackles Dally.

Before I knew what was happening Jackson had punched Dallas square in the face. "Out, hood," he demands. He was already shaking from anger, and he'd been in this room for less than three minutes.

Dallas laughs again; a drunken laugh, that made me fall deeper and deeper into the hole of temptation. Why must everything he do be so screwed up and perfect at the same time? It was so masochistic; the way he seemed to enjoy the pain he caused.

"Alright, alright, I'll go," he drawls. He wipes blood from his cheek with the back of his hand, and grins at me as he walks to the door.

"See you around, Tiny," he says brightly. "And while we're at it, why don't I go ahead and claim you as mine? We all know you will be one day." He winks. "Maybe I'll take you out for a Coke once you get out of this hell hole."

He closes the door just as the words register into my brother's mind.

Jackson lets out a roar, so scary that I pull Cherry close and our eyes are wide. Jackson is taking the fastest steps I've seen him take in a while to reach the door, and I call after him.

"Jackson...please just don't..."

He stops, frozen. He turns back to me slowly.

"What?" he hisses. His eyes are narrowed, and the anger still burns.

"Don't," I manage. "What will it help right now?" I gesture around the room.

He swallows. I can tell he's dying to chase after Dally and give him a piece of his mind, but he doesn't want to leave me.

Finally, he nods, and comes back over. He sits down in the chair next to my hospital bed, scowling. He isn't happy about staying, but he wouldn't be happy about leaving, either. I just hoped I made the right decision; it felt odd doing Dally a favor, but thrilling. I wouldn't tell him about making my brother stay behind. He would just make some comment like, "What? Think I can't take him, Tiny?" and get pissed all over again until he proved himself.

Cherry clears her throat, and a rush of guilt runs through me. "I'm so sorry, Cherry," I apologize. "You shouldn't have to deal with this. Sorry for the scare, too. I'll be fine now. The Doctor will come in, give me medicine and Jackson and I will be on our way. You can go ahead and leave."

She arches an eyebrow, but gets her purse from a seat, zipping it up. "Are you sure...? Because I can stay..."

"No, no," I say, with a wave of my hand. "Go."

She smiles faintly. "Alright." She hands me a piece of paper; her number was on it in black marker. "Call me once you get home so I know you're alright."

I nod, and ask her to hand my purse which had been next to hers. She hands it to me and I through. "Here's my car keys," I tell her. "Go ahead and take my car home." I checked the clock, and it said it was 5:30 pm.

Cherry bites her lower lip, and asks, "Are you sure...?"

I laugh. "Get out already," I tease. She laughs, too, and says goodbye as she walks out the door.

Once she did, only Jackson and I were left in a tense silence.

"Why?" he asks suddenly. He doesn't look at me, his eyes staring into space as he looks at the IV in my hand.

"I don't know," I whisper. "I don't know."

And I didn't know; I didn't know why I helped Dallas, or why Cherry bothers to be my friend. I didn't know why Jackson hates Dallas, and I don't know what Dallas meant with what he said, either.

"_...while we're at it, why don't I go ahead and claim you as mine? We all know you will be one day."_

It terrified me, the thought of me being Dallas Winston if that's what he meant by his words. It thrilled me, too; thrilled me so much it was another petrifying thing. I don't know what it is that terrified me, but I knew I would find out one day.

The door opens suddenly, revealing Doctor Samuel. I've had him as my Doctor since the day I was born up to now. He was always the one that took care of everything.

"Hello, Miss Mary," he smiles. His face is wrinkled, his white hair puffing out wildly. His eyes are old and reveal much sadness, but wisdom, too. The eyes of someone who's seen too much, but lives on and helps others.

"Hello, Doctor Samuel," I greet back. "Am I free to go?"

He nods. "Maybe another half hour or so, but yes. You'll be free to go soon, after I ask you a few questions."

He pulls a notepad out of his coat pocket, and a pen from behind his ear.

"Is this happening often?"

I shook my head. "No; it's been a year. Today, I was just stressed out because our parents are coming home, and of course, next year I'm a Junior so it's getting closer and I have to focus more, even during the summer."

It was a half-truth, half-lie. I couldn't wait for my senior year, to be honest, but I _was _stressed out about my parents coming home tomorrow.

He nods understandingly, and writes down the stuff I said on his notepad. He asks me a few more general questions, which I answer in the same way. I leave out everything about Dally being someone that scared me; I leave out everything about _him._

"Okay," Doctor Samuel finally says, jotting down a few things, and ripping off a sheet of paper. "Take this to the pharmacy and get a prescription of anxiety medicine. You seem fine now, but we should keep an eye on you. Let me know if there's anything else you need."

I take the note, putting it in a pocket in my purse, and Doctor Samuel comes over and takes the IV out of me, and I stand up; I was still in my hospital gown, and I could feel the air on my back. I frown, and Jackson looks around before giving me my dress, which was folded neatly on a chair.

I go into the bathroom, and slip it over my head before cursing the buttons. I pop my head out of the door. "Um, can I please have a female nurse?" I ask, blushing. Doctor Samuel nods, and pages in a nurse, directing her to the bathroom.

She helps me button my back up, and I thank her. She nods and disappears out of the room again, and I walk out of the bathroom to see Doctor Samuel had left, and my brother was standing up, waiting for me by the door. I slip on my flats and get my purse, and we walk together out of the hospital, into his car, and away from the place where Dallas Winston had claimed me as his.

**hey, guys! this is an unedited chapter but because I'm probably not gonna be able to post anything in the next few days due to school, here you go. ill work on another chapter and post it by Wednesday, the next by Friday. i hope you enjoy, and i really want some more comments. comments help give me advice. thank you all so much! i dont own the outsiders whatsoever, all right to the author.  
**


	5. Author's Note

Hello, everybody; this regards saying Mary Kate's a, "Mary Sue."

As an author, of course I love it when people give advice; but there's a fine line between complaining about a character you know nothing about yet, and giving advice.

May I put in mind this is Chapter 4? I understand that my story isn't "perfect," but you know nothing about these characters. The whole point of stories is to discover, and to keep reading until you get answers. The point of a story isn't to please one person.

More information on each of the characters will be revealed later; that's why there's usually a specific name for each point in the story (ex: Rising action, climax, etc). We're only beginning this story; all I ask is for you to write something down, tell me how to grow as an author.

Mary Kate's personality isn't even that Mary-Sue is; a Mary Sue is perfect. A Mary Sue is strong (both mentally and physically), can get through things, and is, well, perfect. Mary Kate isn't perfect; sure, her name may seem Mary Sue-ish, but Mary Kate is far from it. She's too sensitive, she's too soft, she doesn't talk much unless she's being spoken to; she gives in too easily, she's weak. How is a character a Mary Sue when it only shows the beginning of flaws they have?

Comments on my story make my day. As authors, we achieve to not only love the stories ourselves, but have others who look at it from a different point of view. We all can grow on our writing, I understand I can, too. Nobody's perfect, and that's one of the points of this story I hope to get across by the end.

I'm sorry for ranting, but it just irritates me whenever I go on a story and the comments do nothing. I'd like to thank you all, even if you don't like this story, because it's nice to know that there aren't people everywhere who are just gonna accept it, I suppose.

I still thank each of you, no matter the comments of how my character is a Mary Sue; but this time I challenge you to say _why _and _how _Mary Kate is a Mary Sue; it's quite ridiculous by my terms to see someone call a character a Mary Sue - even if I do agree with them on something - and not give an examples.

I write for myself, too; not just to please every person. I posted this story because I have ideas and I stick with them, unless I don't know what to write about next. I'm gonna continue this story, however. This story is something that I have so many ideas for that it's enough to continue.

Thank you each,

AbandonedMelody

P.S. I'm writing Chapter Five, and Jackson is not pleased...I wonder what will happen... *evil smile*


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Five

When we got home, and walked into the house, I could tell Jackson was pissed. No, worse than pissed, I decide as I see his expression as he turns around from locking the door.

It was quiet; a tense silence that filled the room and made me shift in my spot.

"Mind explaining how the fuck you know Dallas Winston?" he hisses. His eyes are dark, sparkling with such anger I wondered if I should just leave and give him time to cool off. Jackson hardly ever got mad at me; he claims he can't stay mad at me because I'm his baby sister.

I look at the ground. "It's none of your business."

"It's none of my business?!" he was shouting now. "None of my business?"

I look up. "It isn't," I stress. "Who I hang out has nothing to do with what you have to say. Besides, it's not like I even wanted to know him! Cherry was sitting with him, The Curtis's, and that Two-Bit guy."

"You don't hang out with hoods!" he shrieks. "You don't! They're dirty, slimy dogs who want to do nothing but get in your pants. They don't care about you, and never will."

That made me snap. Absolutely snap.

Even though raised to be quiet, do as told, and not comment on anything if causes trouble, I still had my moments. I was a scaredy-cat, but if I got fired up enough, I wasn't. I was fired up by now.

"Wanna know what?" I cry at him angrily. "I'm so sick of the way you judge everyone by looks and by what you hear from others. You are the most hypocritical person I've ever met!"

He seems shocked by my outbreak. The anger was still there, yes, but he was shocked. Whenever I broke out he was shocked; I was just soft spoken, quiet Mary. Sometimes it really ticks me off when people underestimate me; just because I'm quiet doesn't mean I don't hear or have emotions.

"Mary," he shouts back, the fire replacing the confused awe."I'm on our side here! Or, the side we're supposed to be on, at least. We're Socs! We can do whatever we want, and they're Greasers. They mean nothing but trouble, and I'd have thought you'd know it.

"No," I snap. The room goes quiet. "Only Dallas Winston."

I match up the stairs, and when I get to my room I slam the door.

And it felt pretty damn good.

It's been an hour.

It's been one measly hour, and it's eating me alive.

We haven't talked since we exchanged words, and I felt guilt crushing around me. I'm a horrible sister.

You did it for good reasons, a voice in my head whispers. You needed to stand up for Dallas, and Cherry, and the Greasers. It had to be done, and you did it because you had to share your opinion.

I finally wasn't pissed when I thought that one thing: you had to share your opinion.

I never get to share my opinion; my parents hardly allowed that. They didn't care about what Beth did, seeing she was always the impulsive one–she was the one that was crazy, and if you asked her why she would have a straight answer. My parents still liked her; but I think their feelings for her changed in her teenage years. Beth would go out and come back at 3:00 am, and come home drunk out of her mind. My parents got mad, and Beth practically raged war against them.

Jackson was the one who did things half-way, but took things to heart. It didn't help he actually had anger issues. If he was playing football, and someone jokingly commented about something he did wrong, Jackson would beat the crap out of them. He got drunk, but he didn't smoke; he didn't risk it with his football scholarship on the way.

By the time my parents got to me,they finally understood what to do, how to raise me. They thought if they spoiled me, it would mold me into the person they wanted–the popular girl who was sweet, and everyone liked, and did everything perfectly and wore ten pounds of makeup. The girl who got married two years after high school, to a rich man and be a housewife.

Their raising did the opposite to me; it made me realize how wrong it was to be like that, to be "out there." I practically despised the things they made me do when I was little; dance with the popular girls, invite girls who I didn't even like over for sleepovers. Try to become on of the "popular girls," as my mother put it. A cheerleader with perfect hair and nails and face.

I refused myself to ever become that person; the opposite, actually. That's why I shut people out. They caused harm. If they saw the real side of me, they would fear I would turn out exactly like Beth–a teacher with small pay, or poor, or a prostitute. My mother had a way of turning your own words against you, and I'm sure if I did show the real me the words wouldn't be pretty.

I open my eyes, and drag myself up from the bed, and walk into the bathroom. I lean closer to the mirror, and stare at myself. My eyes looked ghosted over, and red from when I had cried earlier.

I straighten out my dress, and my hair, rub my eyes once, and decide it's time to meet my brother.

I swallow, and look at myself one last time in the mirror. _You can do this, Mary, _I tell myself. _How bad can it be?_

I walk through the silent house, and stop when I see the living room.

Glass was shattered again, the sunset shining through the window illuminating the clear pieces, making them look golden. The table between the two couches had been shoved back against the wall, and looked as if a leg was messed up.

I stare at it. I don't take a movement to grab a broom to clean it. Just stand there, staring at it, and wonder why life is so screwed up.

My brother was pissed at me because I stood up for someone. He used to tell me in my middle school days if I witnessed someone being bullied, or talked about, tell them to shut their trap. He said it was wrong when people judged the "nerds." Hypocrite; I realized a while ago that there's something bigger than hating on different social groups. I never knew why this whole thing started; because my parents said to stay out of it and I always _had to goddamn listen. _

Dallas Winston never listened to what anyone said; he was his own person. A passionate, sinful person. Someone who was so _angry _and _attractive _at the same time. I realized it wasn't just his looks that made him attractive to girls; it was the way he did things. He had such a powerful demeanor, and he was so _bad _that it made you wish you could rebel along with him.

So I promise I won't see Dallas Winston again, and if I do, I'll avoid him. I couldn't be near him. He even said himself he was a "selfish bastard," and that, "it'd be good to remember that." I hated him for being one, too. For coming into my life and making me questions things I hadn't before in the course of two days. I hated him for making me feel the way I do, for making me feel like I could be invincible.

It wasn't possible for people like me to be invincible; or hang around people who could. Invincibility was something only strong people had, something people who could change others had. I wish I could change Dallas Winston, for a moment at least. Make him stop drawing me in for trouble.

He was like the ocean, like the cold winter, an alligator, a tiger all in one. He could kill you in any way he wanted to without doing it physically. He could say one thing that could make you question what you did. He could make you change into the person you didn't want to be.

"God, I hate him," I say out loud.

_Liar, _a voice whispers in the back of my mind. _You can't stand him because you like him so much. You can't stand him because he's exactly what you want. He's everything that you need and want. You don't hate him; just can't stand how he is because you want him. And you can't have him._

I stare at the ground. My thoughts were the one place where I could release my real mind. How I really thought; and I guess it's right. I did want Dallas Winston, more than anyone I've ever met in my entire life.

I turn around slowly, the reality of not hating him hitting me. A blush roars through my whole body as I remember everything he's said to me.

"_...And while we're at it, why don't I go ahead and claim you as mine? We all know you will be one day."_

"_Hey, babe."_

"_It was surprising to know that I scare people that much..."_

I walk through the kitchen door, and see a piece of paper lodged up against the oven handle. Frowning, I grab it and read over Jackson's note:

"Mary,

It's nice to know I mean so much to you that you yelled at me.

I'm still pissed, so when I come home drunk don't be surprised.

I went out, obviously, as stated before, to get drunk at Dylan's house.

Have fun home alone.

-Jackson"

I stare at the paper, and anger surged through my whole body.

He went out to _get drunk. Drunk. _Because he was mad at me, he decided it would be funny to go and get drunk.

I tear the note up quickly, and throw it away into the trash can. I grab the broom and sweep next from the supply closet, and clean up the glass in the living room, and place the table back in between the couches.

I place all the new decorations I bought earlier today in places I had in mind; I went upstairs to my room, and open the door.

I stood there, and an idea popped in my head. I quickly grab a bag I have, and pack my pink dress like the one I had on for tomorrow, a light pink one. A place maroon flats in the bag, and a hair tie. I put cotton pants and a tank top in the bag for pajamas, and race down the stairs.

I find the phone, and pull it up, before dialing the number I had in mind.

"Hello?" answers the voice I was looking for. I sigh in relief.

"Marica," I say gratefully. "Do you think I could spend the night over at your house? Jackson and I got in a fight, and I don't want to stay here. I can't."

"Of course," Marcia answers without hesitation. "Be over in ten?"

"Yeah," I agree. "Thanks so much. See you then."

I hang up the phone, and turn off all of the lights around the house. I check the time; it was eight thirty.

I grab my house key, readjusting the bag on my shoulder. I lock the house behind me and slip the key in a pocket on the bag.

I start my trudge to Marcia's side of the neighborhood. It was a seven minute walk there, and I didn't want to take my car. If Jackson came home drunk out of his mind and saw my car gone, he would know I left. If he didn't know I left he would leave me alone; if he knew I wasn't, he would go out looking for me. Jackson would blame my "disappearance," on Dallas Winston and go after him. That wasn't something we needed to go through again.

_I'll just return early tomorrow morning, _I think. _Sneak into my room quietly._

The sun was still setting. It was golden. It was nice. _Real nice, _I think to myself. The trees around me shined with a golden glow, the houses on fire. It was still warm outside; but turning into humidity instead. Music flowed from houses, birds were chirping, everything was peaceful outside.

I finally reach Marcia's house, and open the light brown low gate, revealing another perfect green lawn. Butterflies surround the flowers near the porch. The light blue house was absolutely adorable; it was as big as any other house here, but it was different. Marcia's mom did all of the yard work herself, down to pulling the last weed out.

I step onto the porch, and walk forward, ready to knock when Marcia opens it. My hand lamely stays in the air, a surprised look across my face.

Marcia takes one look, and bursts out laughing. I can't help but join her; she invites me inside with a friendly smile, and I feel better just by being in her house.

"Did you eat yet?" she asks after we set my stuff down in her room. The soft yellow walls glow, the posters of The Beatles and The Supremes littering across her walls. Her bed was messy, a magazine of some sort on it. Her lamp was on, but the rest of her room was lit by the last rays of sunshine.

"No," I say. "I just came back from the hospital."

A surprised expression bores on her face, worry lighting her eyes. "Are you okay?" she fusses. I teasingly roll my eyes.

"I'm fine now," I tell her. "I was just out of it today. I'll tell you the rest of it after I eat." She nods in understanding.

This is why I chose Marcia's house; Marcia was a great friend, one of the closest people to me. She joked around a lot, she was cool about random things, she was kind hearted, and she understood when to stop, or that later meant later.

"Alright," she agrees. We get up and walk back down the stairs, into the kitchen where we decided to make a chocolate cake and order pizza.

I got all the supplies out while she orders; chocolate cake mix, milk, eggs, etc. I pulled a bowl out of the cabinets, and a spoon to stir with.

She hangs up once she's done ordering, and she comes over.

"Wanna start to tell me the story while we wait?" she asks. I suck in a breath, and nod.

I start cracking the eggs while she measures the water needed for a cake.

"So, two days ago, the day after we got off for summer break, I decided to go shopping," I start, leaving the cracked eggs in the sink, and wait as Marcia drains in the water to the bowl. I pick up the mix. "I got new clothes, and it was around 6:30 the time I was done." Marcia nods, and gets the vegetable oil we needed for the cake. "I decided to go to Gigi's Diner, as usual. I walked in, and saw Cherry."

"I realized I hadn't talked to her in a while," I continue. "At the end of last year I knew she was going through a hard time due to Bob's death. She shut people out, and I was one of them. I understand why she did it, but I wanted to talk to her again. So when I saw her sitting down, I thought it was a perfect time to say hello."

"She sat me down between her and Dallas Winston- you know, the greaser. He messed with me the whole time; and when I finally decided to go home, Sodapop Curtis stopped me. He said even if the 'war,' between the Greasers and the Socs were over, it still wasn't smart of me to walk alone home through town."

"Dallas Winston offered to walk me home," I take a deep breath. "Or, rather he exploded and told me to walk myself home after a couple of blocks."

Marcia's eyes widen. She stops beating the batter, and she points the spoon at me slowly, a frown itching across her face. "Mary," she starts. "I'm saying this because I care about you as a friend," she sighs. "Dallas Winston...he's not good company," she says. "He's nothing but trouble. He gets _drunk, _he street fights for fun, practically! He's got a bad temper, too."

I look at the ground. "I know," I whisper. "I've been told; by everyone. Just let me finish the rest of the story?"

Marcia hesitates, opening her mouth to answer when the doorbell rings. "Coming!" she calls, rushing to get a ten dollar bill out of her pocket and rush to the door.

I hear the scraping of a pizza box against fingernails, and an exchange. "Have a good day," Marcia's voice floats into the kitchen, and the door close.

"Let's eat the pizza in the kitchen," Marcia decided, placing the pizza box on the island in the middle of the popping open the box. She pulls a piece out, and hops on the counter. She sits criss-cross, eating the piece of pizza contentedly. I shake my head, laughing, but take a piece myself, and sit on the other counterpart.

I scarf down about four pieces in the end, Marcia only two. She looks at me, her eyebrow arched. "Go on," she mumbles, hopping off of the counter.

I swallow, and continue talking, "...and then Cherry came over just earlier today and helped me shop, because my parents are coming home tomorrow and all. After we got what I needed, Cherry said she was hungry so we went to the Dairy Queen. We pulled off to the side and ate, and Cherry said that The Greasers were coming to my car. She got out to talk to them, and I...I don't know. I just had an anxiety attack. Ponyboy, he saw me and that Two Bit guy or someone told me to get out to join in on the conversation. I thought the panic attack would be over in the next few minutes, but no."

"I stood next to Cherry, and Dallas Winston comes over, and says, 'Hey, babe.' I fainted. I don't know why, probably because the panic attack - or, at least that's what the Doc says - and then next thing I know I'm waking up to Cherry and Dallas fighting in the hospital room."

"I was still weak, so Cherry went to get me something to drink. When she was gone Dallas Winston came up real close and was talking nonsense to me until he pulls out a thing of alcohol."

"And Cherry was _mad," _I stressed, "Boy, was she mad. She started yelling at Dallas to leave me alone and he said 'Who's gonna make me?' Then Jackson comes in and of course, he's angry so he starts yelling at Dallas, too."

"Dallas finally gave up, but before he left, he said something...It's still scaring me," I confess.

Marcia looks interested by now, her blue eyes wide and sparkling. "Oh," she drawls. "What'd he say?" She spoons the cake batter into the pan and puts it in the oven to bake.

I frown. "He said... 'And while we're at it, why don't I go ahead and claim you as mine? We all know you will be one day?' Because he was leaving, and he told me he'd take me out for a coke sometime - if I was lucky." I roll my eyes.

Marcia starts laughing; hysterical laughing, the kind that made you worried if the person has gone crazy. She starts shaking her head. "Oh, Golly," she says, brushing a fake tear from laughing so hard away. She becomes real serious all the sudden. "Mary, don't go anywhere _near _that...that jerk now, you hear? He's gonna do nothing but cause trouble for you. If he gets you, he obviously just wants to do the dirty and leave. That's what he does with all pretty girls."

Her words hit me hard; I know she didn't mean it harshly, she was only trying to protect me. It still hurt though, the blow of her words impacting my thoughts. _Is that all he wanted? _I ask myself. _To do "the dirty," with me and leave?_

I eventually tell myself that yes, that is all Dallas Winston wanted; I wasn't an idiot to who the girls at school were best to do it with. I heard his name once or twice but always forgot it. It didn't matter to me before; Jackson protected me from boys, especially Greasers.

"Let's go upstairs to my room while we wait," suggests Marcia. I nod and follow her up the stairs. Once we're in her room I realize how annoying the dress is getting.

"Will you help me take this off?" I ask her, gesturing to my dress. She turns around faster than you could say hello and stares at me before laughing again. My face floods red. Of course Marcia would be the one to think of it _that _way.

"Oh, get your mind out of the gutter," I say with a wave of my hand, although my cheeks were still red with embarrassment. She nods, still laughing, and starts to undo the pearls. I thank her and walk to the bathroom to change into my pajamas, and fold my dress up. I take one look in the mirror, and think, _God, Dallas Winston could do someone better than me, if he really does like you._

_Which he doesn't, _hisses one side of my thoughts, and I agree immediately with my own demons.

I swallow before turning around and walking out the door, back to Marcia's room. She's laying on her bed in her own pajamas, flipping through a magazine.

"Maryyyyyyyyy," she sing-songs, flipping over so her back is against her comforter and staring at the ceiling.

"Maricaaaaa," I mock in the same way. She grins cheekily at me before looking back up at the ceiling and frowning.

"Mary, if I tell you something will you promise not to judge me?" she asks. I arch my eyebrows, in a _do-you-even-need-to-ask _way. She laughs, then rolls her eyes.

She resumes studying the ceiling. "Is it possible to like someone you don't even know?"

A pang hits me, hard. I want to tell her no, that it's not, but I'd be lying.

"Yes," I finally tell her. My voice sounds cold to myself even; withdrawn. It seemed to be that way a lot today.

"Do you think it's possible to maybe one day love a greaser? Despite all of the stuff that goes around?" she asks; her blue eyes were wide, and I noticed water collecting at them even as she stares.

"Yes," I answer, in the same tone. I felt cold inside, my emotions a blur. Anger is the main one; was Marcia purposely trying to piss me off? Did she find it _funny, _after I told her my story, to mess with me?

She swallows. The tears finally leak. "I gave a Greaser boy my number once," she cries. She sits up, wiping her eyes. "He never called. But I can't get him off of my mind, _and it's so messed up because I don't even know him and I'm ready to love him._" She cries harder, and I sit down next to her and hold her while she cries.

"And I'm supposed to love Randy," she blubbers. "I'm supposed to have a boyfriend. And I do, and he's everything any girl could want but I just don't _love _him the way I could the greaser."

"Shh," I hush her, and rock back and forth like a mother and a baby. Marcia was taller than me, so it was awkward, but she looked like she needed babying. "What was his name?" I dared to ask. I knew she was emotional but I wanted to see if I knew him.

"Two-Bit," Marcia weeps. "His name was Two-Bit."

**Definition of a "Mary Sue."**

**A female character who is so perfect that she is annoying. The name originated in a very short Star Trek story that mocked the sort of female characters who showed up in fanfiction. It usually refers to original female characters put into fanfiction, but can refer to any character.**

**Mary-Sues are characters who are usually****_ extraordinarily gorgeous, amazingly talented, unusually powerful, and exceedingly attractive to whoever the author has a crush on. They often possess ridiculously fancy and pretentious first names - Angel, Raven, Jewel, Lorelei Bianca Julia Marizza Snape - and are very, very annoying. _**

**May I remind everyone that Dallas just suffered from experiencing his friend's—the only person he's ever cared about, Johnny—death? Of course He's gonna act slightly differently than the way he was before! It's natural to act different after experiencing a trauma. And this climax of the story hasn't even been reached yet; mostly everything starts to become solved as the climax approaches.**

**And Dallas likes any female with two legs lmfao**

**Thank you all for the reads and I hope you enjoy chapter five. **

**I do not own the Outsiders in any way, shape, or form; only Mary Kate, Jackson, Beth, and their parents.**


	7. Another Author's Note

**Ever heard about, "If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all"? This needs to be said, about not just something someone does to me, but people do to each other. Constructive critisim is okay but don't go around on the Internet and tell someone to basically give up.**

**ABOUT THE STORY!**

**So, it turns out I might not be finished with the next chapter as I hoped: Tomorrow. Sorry! Thanks so much, you guys, for your support, reads, and reviews. Makes my day, for the most part! **

**Next chapter is Dallas's point of view,ohmyohmy xD  
**

**_"I was drunk," I spit. "I don't even know her. She just popped up. If anything, she'd be just another fuck."_  
**

**Thanks!**


	8. Chapter 7 (should be chapter 6)

Chapter Six

Dallas's (Dally's) P.O.V.

"Oh, shit, Dallas," the girl beneath me moaned. I groaned, and pulled back. I got out of my bed, and lean against a wall. I couldn't see clearly; thank God for the effect of alcohol. I fucking loved how I felt - numb. What I didn't like, however, was the haze that came sometimes - it fucking _blindsided _me with memories of Johnny. When I was drunk I felt as as if he was there. Damn flashbacks.

"Winston?" the slut calls from the bed. I looked over to see her wrapped up in the covers, sweat all over her face. Her makeup ran, making her look like a racoon. I smirk at the thought, and arch an eyebrow at here.

"What the hell do you want?" my voice sounded slurry, even to me. I raise my hand slowly, pointing it at her, blinking my eyes drowsily. "Whore."

She looks _pained. _I laugh at the the expression, my head flying back as I laughed my ass off. _She expected to not have this type of treatment. Fucking hilarious. _

"You don't mean that now, don't cha?" she asks anxiously. Anxiously; how cute. I'm still laughing, and I'm well aware I'm acting like a prick. It was just so goddamned fun to screw with them and act like I actually cared about them for one second. They got their hopes up for no reason, and it made me laugh harder to think that the thought of them changing Dallas Winston -the player, the flirt, the master of one-night stands.

Maybe if I weren't such a selfish bastard I'd at least take the time to remember their name by the time we were already getting busy.

_Let's not, _I think. _Who the hell will even care? Oh, that's right, the chick who you're banging cares. Oh well. _

"Of course I do," I say with an arch of my eyebrow. "Why else would you allow me to fuck you senseless when we only just met?"

She swallows. "Well..." she trails off. "Well I thought..."

I laugh again. I walk back to her, leaning closer to her. Her face goes lower and lower with each dip my head takes, her goes lower until her head is against the pillow, her eyes wide.

I chuckle at her fear.

"Thought what?" I whisper. My lips trail up her cheek softly and she shivers.

Her blue eyes - or, I think they were blue, I couldn't tell at this point - widened. She cringes, "I thought maybe...maybe after this, we could meet up in a couple of days...? Get a coke or something."

I laugh in her face. "A coke?" I roared. "You want to meet up for a Coke?"

Her eyes crinkle a little in the corner, and she's obviously trying to hold back tears. "I...I just thought..."

"Well you thought wrong," I spit. "Get. The. Hell. Out. Of. My. Room. Now; go already!"

She get up real face, picking up her clothes and practically tripping over herself to get out. She wasn't even clothed; I knew people would understand immediately she was a slut. She was, and that's why I chose her; none of these girls meant anything after the one night stand. They wanted a quick fuck, I _needed _a quick fuck, and they wanted more and I didn't.

I slip on a pair of boxers, and a pair of jeans. I sit down on the bed, the smell of sex surrounding it. I close my eyes, and hold my head in my hands, my arms on my knees as I lean over the edge.

"_Dallas," _a voice echos. I snap my head up, and I swear I see Johnny's face looming in front of me. "_Leave off being mean to those girls." _

"Johnny, man," I start. "Johnny..."

"_Dallas?" _Johnny's face is filled with confusion. "_Dallas, are you alright?" _

"Johnny, man," I plead. "I'm not." Anger courses through me. "How the fuck could you die?! You _wanted _to leave me, the same way everyone else does, don't you?"

Guilt surges through me. I only got to see Johnny when I was piss drunk; I should just enjoy it. But it's not possible for me to "enjoy," anything. I fuck everything up, because I'm such _a selfish bastard. _I knew it, but I didn't make any move to change it. If I weren't a selfish bastard then I wouldn't get drunk; if I was selfless I wouldn't have been alive. I am, though, so I'm still _fucking here. _

_I'm such a fuck up, _I think to myself. I dig under the bed and finally find it - a bottle of whiskey. I unscrew the cap, and it's near my when that lovely, dead bastard named Johnny knocks it out of my hands.

I hear a crashing sound, and the whiskey explodes against the wall. Drips of whiskey rain down the wall, slowly. The glass shatters everywhere in sight; and I'm happy because maybe if I'm lucky I'll step on it and bleed physically.

But I'm a selfish bastard and I couldn't hurt Johnny so I wouldn't make a move to bleed. Physically, at least; mentally I bled all the time.

"Dallas," snaps Johnny's voice. "Stop calling me Johnny, man. It's not fucking Johnny." Pain lingers in the voice. I close my eyes. Fuck. Why did it have to hurt _so fucking much? Why couldn't I have died?_

"Yes it is," I roar, pointing my finger at Johnny. It was funny because there were several Johnny's, and they were all standing next to each other, two of them faint. The main Johnny looked grim, but he had a surprised look across his face.

Johnny shook me. "Dallas," he hisses. "Get the fuck out of your imagination. I know you're drunk as hell, but it's _not Johnny." _

I shook my head. "Johnny," I say. "Why the fuck did you die? It's weak. You could've lived, you could've lived, you dickhead. You _should've _lived. But you left me, like everyone else."

"It's me," Johnny's voice snaps. "Ponyboy Curtis."

I stop immediately, and close my eyes. _No, _I tell myself, _It's Johnny, and he's lying to stop your happiness for one second. He's trying to stop you, like the day he died was._

I open them again, and Johnny Cade is gone.

Ponyboy is here in his place, a nervous and sorrowful expression on his face. "You okay?" he asks.

I put the usual smirk on my face. "Yeah," I answer with a roll of my eyes. "When the hell aint' I 'fine'?"

Ponyboy opens his mouth, eyebrows arched. "You weren't just then," he replies.

Smartass.

"You tell anyone 'bout that I'll beat the living tar outta you," I warn. He just nods.

I close my eyes before opening them quickly, leaning against a pillow. "The hell are you doing here?"

He clears his throat. "Well..." he starts. "Turns out Darry has a date with some broad. I don't know who, though. Sodapop is working extra long and I'd figure it was about time to check up on you."

The Curtis brothers had taken it upon themselves to "babysit," me. It was like hell; they watched over me and checked up on me frequently. I haven't been in the cooler in forever because of them.

"With the rate you all check up on me," I start with a laugh. "I won't be in the cooler for a while. The boys down at the station are probably missing me."

Ponyboy lets out a short, dry laugh. "Yes," he agrees sarcastically. "I'm sure they're all bawl babies without you to keep them company."

I snicker. "Smartass," I call.

He laughs. "Learned it from all of you," he tells me. "The boys and you."

I nod my head. I'd never admit it to the kid, but Ponyboy Curtis was alright. Different, but he was cool. A silence falls, and I pull a cancer stick out of my pocket, and Ponyboy watches it longingly.

I offer one to him, and he hesitantly shakes his head. I could tell he wants one bad, so I arch an eyebrow.

"Track," he finally manages. "I'm trying out for track this fall, and well...they don't help. They make it harder."

I nod, but I can't help but ponder Ponyboy running in track. None of us were really "athletic," except for Darry, and Two-Bit when he played baseball last year. Ponyboy had a chance though; the best chance out of all of us to get the hell out of this small town and actually _do _something with her life.

"Good," I tell him. "You oughta keep those grades up, too."

He scowls. "What the hell?" he snaps. "Why does everyone keep saying that?"

I sit up real fast. "'Cuz you actually have a _chance,_" I stress. "You could get the hell outta this shit town, Pony. You could do something with your life."

He's silent, before he finally explodes. "I don't _know _if I even _can,_" he stresses. "I don't even know if I want to."

"Why the hell wouldn't you want to?" I snarl. "I'd get the fuck out of here if I could."

"Why can't you?" he snaps. "Why couldn't you leave, Dally?"

I laugh, and answer him with the exact same words I've been thinking. "Because I'm a selfish bastard," I tell him. "Johnny...he's here, man. This was his town. This is my own personal hell. If he were strong like me, he'd have survived and stay."

I get up and ram my fist against a wall, causing a hole in the drywall. "Damnit," I spit. "Goddamn him. Fuck. He fucking died. _Died."_

Once someone is dead you can't change nothing.

Fucking as many women as I wanted didn't help. Neither did drinking; drinking only caused me to see Johnny and that's why I did it.

"Dallas," Ponyboy says. I can't even fucking look at the kid and it shows how damn weak I am. "Dallas, Johnny's always gonna be here. He's gonna be on our minds forever. He ain't gonna fade. He's gonna stay."

I swallow. I turn around, but tip my head back, looking at the ceiling. "I know," I say. "Sometimes I wish I could forget." I hate myself for opening up, and I take the cigarette from between my teeth, and head to the window. I open the window, and watch the night sky. I hear Ponyboy move and he sits next to me on the window pane, and we stare out at Tulsa in the summer nights.

"Did you ever read it?" he asks me. I stare at him, confused. Then it hit me; the book Pony wrote for his school project.

It was about us; all of us. How we stayed together, how we helped. I shake my head no, that I didn't read it; I was too afraid to, not that I'd admit that.

"I never got a chance to," I tell him. "Everyone else was too busy reading it."

"Everyone's done reading it by now, I'd reckon," he says matter-of-factly. I roll my eyes. He always spoke like that, like you were dumb. He was just a kid, an innocent kid who saw Johnny die and probably suffered as much as me. Maybe even more.

We hear a bark, and a smirk crosses my face as Pony jumps. He grabs onto the side of the window to not fall.

"What the hell was that?" he asks, his green eyes wide.

"A dog," I answer smartly. "_My _dog."

A fake frown crosses his face. "Now, Dally," he says, mimicking a voice that Superman would make; a disapproving one, one that makes it feel like he's looking down at you. "I thought we talked about not calling women dogs anymore."

We start laughing, and it hurts and feels good at the same day. My laugh is more sadistic than his, though. I bump his shoulder, and he almost falls again. Weakling.

"Nah," I say. I put two fingers in my mouth and whistle; a trick I learned all the way back in New York years ago at a young age.

I hear a pant outside the door, and scratching noises. I open the door to my room, and he busts through the door.

He's an all-black German Shepherd; I named him Duke. I may or may have not stolen him from the fuzz when I broke free.

He practically jumps on me, and licks me on my face. "Duke," I groan, shoving him off. "Come on, man."

Ponyboy stares at the dog in wonder. "Wow," he says. "I've never had a dog before. Darry and Soda had one before I was born; when Mom and Dad were still around."

"Well," I say, watching the dog. He laid down on the bed, and watched us, his ears alert. "I got him because I needed something after Johnny. I also may or may have not stolen him from the police station dog training station when the fuzz weren't lookin'."

Pony laughs, "Of course you would do something like that, too."

I nod my head in agreement, a smirk etched on my face. "Payback," I tell him. "It's all in the payback."

"What's his name?" he asks, nodding his head at the dog.

"Duke."

"Oh." he says. Duke studies Pony before going over to him, and sniffing Curtis all over. I snicker as Pony shifts uncomfortably.

Duke finally seems to accept him, and wags his tail in approval. Duke was good company, I decide. Didn't fuck anything, did as he was told, and was my "friend," whenever nobody was available and no party was going on. He followed me everywhere, and could attack anyone if I told him to.

The thought was fun, of him attacking a Soc.

"Well," Pony finally says. It's nearly 9:00 pm, and the kid had to get going. He waved as he walked out of the room, and patted Duke one time. "I should get goin. Bye, Dallas, Duke."

I nod my head, and the door closes behind Pony.

I climb into the bed, which still smells like sex. I stay there for five minutes and finally decided I can't fucking _lay here and sleep. _I get up, and put on socks and my black combat boots. They were worn down, mud caked the soles, but I wore them most of the time.

I tie them and Duke is waiting by the door. We head out of Bucks, past drunken people, bright lights, and hookers. Duke followed me, weaving through the crowd of people. Some people looked disgusted a dog was there, and I chuckle. Fuck people looking down on a damn _dog. _

I was still drunk, and everything seemed blurry. The people's voice were more of an echo, but Dallas Winston is strong, so I walk through all of it in what I hoped seemed balanced way. If anyone talked to me, I'm sure my voice would be a slur.

I open the door and walk out, stumbling down the concrete steps. Duke follows and I just walk.

It was quiet, but the chirping of the bugs were so damned _annoying. _Not to mention loud; I could still hear the party from here.

I didn't even fucking know where the hell I was going at this point, but I was laying down before I knew it. I looked up at the sky. The stars were blurry, but very bright. I was surrounding by trees. Bugs were making noises, and I had the realization that I was at the lot.

I lay there, on my back.

My eyes are trained on the stars. I was getting tired, and I could feel my eyes closing.

Before I fell asleep, I had the thought that the stars were fucking beautiful.

But that's something I'd never tell anyone.

**Unedited. Sorry if its sorta crappy; I tried to write in a boy's p.o.v., but it's sorta tough when you're a girl and this takes place in the 1960s in a boy's view. A beautiful, but fucked up boy's point of view gah. /3 **

**I don't own The Outsiders. Duke the doggie is mine, hehe, as is Mary, Jackson, Beth, blahblahblah etc etc yeah.**

**Anyways, here ya go. **

**Thanks for the views!**


	9. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Mary Kate's P.O.V.

It was 6:30 in the morning, and I was attempting to sneak into my house.

I mutter substitutes for curse words under my breath, as I trip over a bottle of beer in the yard. Damn Jackson and his drunken days. He would have one hell of a hangover today; I decided to not talk to him if I could help it.

His car was parked right near the driveway, on the street. I notice broken bottles around the wheels. There were at least four bottles. Great; so he went and got drunk and then when he parked the car he probably fucking took out a six pack and drunk his conscience out of his mind.

I hate him for it; the way could go get drunk. The way he could yell at me, and be overprotective, and then I would forgive him because _he's my brother. _Family always forgives family, no matter what happened.

I walk up the steps, and slip my key out of my night clothes pocket, and place it into the door. I open it slightly, enough to peak my head in. The sun was already rising, my shadow visible. No noise greeted my ears from inside the house. Jackson was probably passed out drunk on his bed - if he made it that far.

"Goodness gracious," I whisper-scream as I finally get inside and look around. The house is _trashed, _and mom and dad would be home tonight! He knew it, too, and he freaking destroyed the house.

I curse him out mentally, racing to my room, and drop the bag on the floor. I go back downstairs, and open the supply closet.

A frown upon my face, I turn back and study the damage, the supplies in my hands and arms.

The stairwell was littered with bits of trash, and the couches had been completely turned upside down. There was muddy footsteps up to a pair of loafers. There were literally clothes everywhere- bits and pieces of them, and I had a sinking feeling Jackson had brought a friend over.

I sigh, and place my cleaning supplies other than the broom and the sweeper on the counter.

I start at the top of the stairs, slowly making my way down each steps and cleaning them off. All the pieces are done with by the time I get down. The railing had clothes hanging off of it, and I look at them in disgust. There was no way I was touching those.

I'm sure if anyone had been here, they'd have commented that the house was still a mess. My mother would be very upset if this is what she came home to; that I was sure of.

I check the time at the clock on the wall. 7:00 am. I still have at least two hours until Jackson and his "lady friend," wake up. I mentally thank God; I didn't want to deal with him, especially when he has some girl over.

I remember after Hank...

_No, _I scream at myself. _Don't think about Hank. Don't. It'll only cause you to be sad. You can't be sad. You can't; not when Mom and Dad are coming home tonight. You promised yourself, dammit. Promised. _

I swallow, and get the mop, trading the broom for a bucket of water and soap mixed together. I put the mop in, and start the trek around the hardwood floor. The mud comes off gradually over time; I put the muddy loafers in a bag, and put the bag on a table. I finish mopping it up and leave it to dry.

I go into the front room, where the coaches had been tipped over. I take the mop with me, and the spray for the tables. A rag is practically glued to my hand; I spray the cleaner all over, cleaning it off until it shines in the sunlight coming from the windows.

I checked the time again; 7:45. I was a nervous wreck; even if my parents didn't come soon, the maid did soon.

I hear a knock on the door, and wince. It was the maid; she was practically my second mother, but she sure as heck would not accept this.

I go to the door, and hesitantly twist the knob. Standing there is Ms. Kylie; her wrinkles on her face breaking into a well-worn smile. I open the door with a weak smile in return. Her leathery old hands grab onto me and pull me into a hug.

She still smelt the same - like a floral scent from the amount of time she spends outside when she's home. She laughs softly in my ear, and says, "Aw, baby girl," in her affectionate, loud voice.

"Jennings," I reply with a grin.

She's smiling right back, her lips open. She has a few missing teeth, but she was exactly the same as I remembered when I was little. A few more gray hairs didn't change Ms. Kylie at all; it even made her more beautiful in my opinion.

"Now, Mary Kate," she scolds, glaring at the cleaning product still in hand. "You didn't go and clean this mess now, did you?"

"I have to," I reply weakly. "I can't just leave it, or dump it all on you."

"Baby girl," she says. "This is my job. This is what I get payed for. This is the best way to get payed, and I enjoy actually doin the job. Don't you be messing around with things Old Kylie's supposed to do now, hm?"

"Yes, ma'am," I return softly. There was no point in arguing with Jennings Kylie. She would whip you with your words, if anything. She ties her black hair up, and arches an eyebrow, a hand on her hip.

"That's what I thought," mumbles Kylie as she grabs the cleaning supplies. She was still a bit angered at me for working, I know. I didn't want to drop things on her, though, especially when my parents would be home soon; Ms. Jennings Kylie had been with us as long as I remember. She raised us, mostly; our parents were always away, at the young age of four was when they started leaving.

I swallow, and look at the ground. I didn't like thinking of my parents like that; over the years I've learned that I should just enjoy when they come home, rather than think about them being away. When they came home, they weren't like parents. We called them Mom and Dad, but we weren't a _family._

I walk upstairs, and make a noise of disgust when I see a wrapper of...well..._protective _usage laying on the floor. My whole face heats up, and the image is forever scarred in my mind. I want to scream and repeatedly knock my head against a wall, but I hold it in.

Jackson needs to get better at picking things up.

I step over it, and walk into my room. I hop on my bed, and stare at the ceiling.

It's been one day since I've been in the hospital, two days since I met Dallas Winston, and now I only have seven hours left until my parents' plane lands, with the extra hour to get home.

I needed a shower.

Sighing, I get up and walk to the bathroom, starting the cool water up and slip off my nightgown over my head, untying my hair and pulling off my undergarments and jumping into the water.

It hits my back like an Antarctic wave, and I jump. I get used to the water, and I find myself not minding the freeze shower - at least it kept me awake.

Marcia and I went to sleep after she told me about everything about Two-Bit.

I could just remember her torn face - it was between sadness and anger. Anger at the world; anger at the fact she would never be able to date Two Bit. Angry at the fact that she loves someone she'll never be able to happen. The fact that they didn't belong together but she wanted it anyways.

Sadness at the fact that she's angry. Sadness at the fact she'll never be able to have him. Sadness that she has to pretend to actually _like _her boyfriend; she does, she told me, but she she didn't love him in that way. She tells me when you love someone you know it, that when you love someone you give your whole heart to them. Marcia only gave part of her heart to her boyfriend. The other part...it belonged to Two-Bit for now.

The bad part, I realized last night after Marcia fell asleep and I was awake, was that I understood exactly what she meant.

I peer through the shower at the clock, wiping a layer of fog off to see the time. It was 9:02, and I knew Jackson would be up soon.

I wasn't pissed anymore; I was mad, yes, but nowhere near as mad as I was when we were fighting. He always had to freaking _argue. Every. Single. Day. _

I hop out of the shower, grabbing a shower and wiping off my face and body. I put on new a new bra and underwear, and take the planned dress of the day out of the bag. I put it on, and walk back to the door to enter my room.

"Kylie?" I call out. Long ago she told us she didn't like Jennings; just Kylie. We called her Kylie or ma'am, sometimes Mama if we were joking around or needed her help with dealing with something. That's what I called her, at least. I haven't seen Jackson call Mama since her was Sophomore three years ago.

I hear her lumber up the stairs, and come into my room, I turn around silently, and she helps button my dress up. She pats my back when she's done, rubbing up and down comfortingly.

"Are you okay there, Miss Mary?" she asks me. "You seem tense."

"Yeah, I'm fine," I say back. I swallow, a lump in my throat. It was nice to have people who care. "Just worried. With my parents coming back..."

Kylie snorts. I laugh lightly, and turn around. "Honey," she drawls. "Why you worried about 'em? No reason to be. They love you."

"I know," I say. "It's just...it's been a while. They're staring for a while, too. Three weeks, my mom said. I'm just nervous."

"Well, don't," Kylie says matter-of-factly. "If anything, they'll be proud. You got straight A's all year; you attend church every weekend. You've been in the paper two times this year. You help organize charity events. You give everyone a fair chance. You don't let people down." She arches an eyebrow at me. "Remember what I told you when you was little?"

I wrack my brain for memories, and it hits me.

"_Now, baby doll," Kylie says to me as I sit at a small tea table. Little sandwiches and cups of tea and plates of cake surrounded me. "Remember what I said? There ain't no reason to be nervous over your friends comin over." She grabs my hand, and we say at the same time, "Nobody's opinion matters, except for those who love you. Don't let nobody tell you what to do." She pauses. "You are strong..."_

"_You are strong," I repeat._

"_You are beautiful," she adds. _

"_You are beautiful," I repeat, my voice making it sound, "bwutiful."_

"_And I love you."_

"_And I love you."_

She grabs a brush from on top of my dress, and leads my over to the ground right next to a chair. She sits in the chair and I sit on the ground beneath her, and she brushes my wet hair. It was soothing, brought a different feeling than Cherry's did. I knew Kylie meant it when she says she loves me. I knew Kylie would always be there for me.

"You are strong, you are beautiful, and I love you," she whispers in my ear. I smile, and repeat the words back to her.

She chuckles and braids two small braids out of the hair close to my face, and brings them to the back of my head, and ties it. I hand her a bow I got in my hand, and she places it over the tie.

"There you go," she says. I get up, and turn around, giving her my hand while to help her get up. Kylie was 67, and sometimes I would hear her mumble about how it was hard to get up. She never tells my parents; they care about Kylie, but to her she's just a maid who helps their kids.

She gives me one last smile before leaving the room. It was a bright grin, one that filled me up with happiness and warmth. The kind of smile that gave you hope, gave you confidence.

I return it back to her in the same fashion.

Jennings Kylie has always been there for me; I knew she would do anything if anyone in my family asked for it.

Jennings Kylie gave me a brighter outlook on the future, and I remember the day when she tells me what I am to her. To someone else out there, too, one day.

"_You are strong. You are beautiful, and I love you." _

These words get me through the wait for my parents. So I silently repeat them, mouthing the words over and over as I sit there.

It was 4:00 pm on the dot, and there Jackson and I stood. It was silent, but I could feel the tension.

Not the tension from just last night, and the unsolved argument, but the feelings of our parents' plane landing right at the very moment.

We exchange glances when someone calls out that the people from flight 305 are walking towards us.

There was a mob of people, either walking by themselves, or in small groups. They all had tired expressions across their faces; expressions that tell me they've been in a damn plane all day long and just wanted to go home.

I shuffle my feet as I look around the people, trying to see if I can find my parents. After five minutes of searching the crowd, I give up and stare at my feet. I could already picture them.

My father, tired and weary, but a grin across his face nonetheless. The sparkle in his blue eyes that I received. The crinkles near his eyes as he smiles. The perfect white teeth, probably wearing a brown plaid suit with a dark brown fedora. Worn leather loafers on his feet, his tan socks visible slightly when he walked. A dark brown leather briefcase at his side.

I could see my mother's blonde hair, bouncing with each step she took. I could see a tired smile on her face. I could see her red heels as she practically runs to us. I could see her childlike brown eyes, the same ones Jackson got.

"They're here," says Jackson's breathless voice. I look up immediately, a smile on my face.

Sure enough, my father is carrying his briefcase, and my mother is wearing red heels. They say that once you really get to know someone you can predict things; things like these are what I knew would happen.

"Hey, guys," squeals my mother. She's forty-one, but she looks like a teenager. People joke that we look like sisters, and I just laugh it off because it's weird being told your mother could pass for your sibling. She hugs me tight.

"Big man," greets my father teasingly, grinning and rustling around with my brother. He turns to me and smiles.

"Is that my beautiful little girl?" he says, and engulfs me in a hugg. I inhale his familiar scent - rich cologne and cigars. I grew up around the smell, and it was always comforting to smell it around the house.

My mother greets my brother, and we walk to get their things.

"So, tell me how things have been!" cries my mother, while Jackson and Daddy get their bags.

"Great," I tell her with a smile.

"Good," she says. A sudden mischievous smile stretches across her lips, and a sparkle in her eyes come up. Bad news; she had a crazy plan.

My mother was the type of woman who could tell you the Earth was spinning backwards and you'd believe her. She had the most insane ideas; one time she tried to practically break into our neighbor's house when they were away because we ran out of coffee. She was harsh when it came to first impressions that other people gave, but she loved us. She wouldn't accept it if someone said our family wasn't, "perfect." She lived in her own world, but she could be cruel. My family had power, and my mother could use it in any way she liked.

_But you love her, _I remind myself. She's my mother. She gave birth to me, she helped me when I needed it. She was my mother, and no matter what she did...I was her daughter.

I'm snapped out of my trance when she finally says what she was waiting to say. She liked making things dramatic, so she waited.

"Well..." she trails off. Her eyes flicker to mine, and flicker away, a smirk on her face. "Your dad and I decided that we're going out for dinner tonight. Also, our friends are coming. Their son..."

I arch my eyebrow. "What?" I ask, pretending to be interested. I wasn't really interested in petty gossip.

"...he's a very attractive boy..."

"Really?"

"Mhm. Maybe you ought to give him a chance."

"Maybe."

A silence falls between us, and we walk toward the exit, Jackson and Daddy trailing right behind us. We walk in silence, but I feel glances of envious looks at our family. Our designer clothes, our perfect family stance, the way we walked. The way we _looked._

I'd like to tell them there's more than meets the eye. I'd like to see someone find out what our family is truly like. But I knew it was never gonna happen.

I was raised to not raise my voice. I was the only voice who thought about our family this way, from what I've seen from my siblings' perspectives.

We get into the car, Mom and Daddy in the front, Jackson and I in the back.

I look back at the airport as we drive away. I wished I could get a one way ticket anywhere but here, but I don't say that.

I just wish.

At sixty thirty, an hour and a half of getting ready for this "dinner," our parents finally round up Jackson and I. My father and mother walk down the stairs first, the rhythm of my mother's heels as she steps down.

Jackson goes about one step in front of me, and I trail behind. Jackson was wearing a suit and tie like my mother ordered, I was still in the dress because my mother approved of it.

"Have a safe night now," Kylie says. "I'll stay behind and start on a homemade chocolate pie for all of you. Learnt it just the other day. If that's alright with you," she adds with a glance at my parents.

My mother nods absentmindedly, while my father lets out an, "Of course, Kylie! Can't wait to taste it later."

Kylie locks the door behind us, and I see her peering through the curtains at us as we walk down the front steps to the cars. I see her smile at all of us, and I smile back at her before turning around.

When we get in the car and head to the restaurant, I had a sinking feeling.

"...and so I told, 'Well, I can't help the fact that you're a dog,'" laughs my mother.

Two hours later, a table with slightly drunk adults, a brother who's ignoring me, a silent brother-in-law, and a good-looking but mysterious boy who speaks every second he can is what is in front of me. My mother and Ms. Anderson were laughing hysterically, while the boys are having conversations about sports and cars.

"Mary, dear," my mother calls, laughing. I curse her mentally a little when everyone's attention turns to me. "Have you talked to Travis?"

Damn silence will be the death of me.

She's speaking of the bold boy, the ones who is smirking at me. My whole face goes red and I look down at my napkin which is neatly folded on top of my plate.

"Yes," I say quietly. It's loud to me, but that's only because no other noise is heard. "I have."

"What do you think of my boy?" Ms. Anderson says, and my mother and her laugh.

Eyes are set upon me, and I look up. I sweetly force out, "He's very nice. Very bold and entertaining to be around; very good company."

"Why, thank you madame," Travis says smoothly, smiling at me from across the table. It hits me that everyone except for Jackson - who I guess has a suspicion of who I really _might _like - thinks I like Travis now.

"You two knew each other when you were younger, you knew each other," nods Ms. Anderson, taking another sip of red wine. I smile politely.

"Yes, I remember," I tell her. "He was a very funny kid, then."

"Well, it'd be great if you two - how do kids say it these days? - go out," says my mother boldly.

Ms. Anderson agrees immediately. I look at my father, and I see a flash of something pass through his eyes. What was it? Annoyance, irritation? Sorrow, guilt? Or was it approval? Either way it was replaced with a hard expression, and a nod to agree with my mother.

I feel like choking. I feel like I _am _choking; my heart was beating faster. My mind is screaming at me, and images of Dallas Winston flash through my mind. I wonder why, seeing I hated him.

_You don't, _a voice whispers. _He's the one you wish was over there!_

"It would be an honor," says Travis; his eyes held a sudden seriousness, but his smirk remained in place. I felt disgust; I couldn't! I can't go out with someone I don't even _like. _"Perhaps we should go out on a date? Test it out?"

I felt like something was stabbing me in the heart. I couldn't say yes; I just couldn't! He couldn't do this. He couldn't make me go out with him.

Then the realization hits me that this is planned.

_Planned. _

I felt my cheeks grow red. From embarrassment and anger, but I hope it looks more embarrassed so I don't appear "rude," in front of other people. People who my parents were making deals with, people who just might be as a liar and cheater as my mother is right now. I felt a sickness, and I _hated her _in that moment.

_Say no, _my head screams. _Say no._

Instead, I imagine that maybe it was a towheaded boy asking me this. A boy with blue eyes that seemingly stare into my soul. So I say exactly what they want me to say. Exactly for what they're waiting for me to say:

"Yes."

* * *

**Hai Gais. Unedited, sorry. I'm not gonna be able to post for the next couple of days so here you go. Love the reviews and reads. Thanks so much.**

**I do not own The Outsiders. I only own The Anderson family, Mary Kate, Jackson, their parents, and Duke lololol. But yeah. All rights go to S.E. Hinton **


	10. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Mary Kate's P.O.V.

Please, please, let last night have been a bad dream.

Please. Please.

_God, if you let last night be a dream, I'll..._Dammit. I can't think of anything right now. Why must he hate me?

I pop open and eye and let out a groan. It's all real; I now have a boyfriend. My parents are home, our business groups are _staying in our house, _and I have no way to get out of here. I have no escape. I was trapped.

I mumble a disapproving, "I hate my life," and close my close again. I wish sleep would come back so I couldn't feel, but I was wide awake. There was no way to get out of this one; I had to do everything my mother said because _that's the type of person I am. _That's who I was raised to be, so now I have to deal with the consequences.

My mind snaps back to Dallas Winston - he could do anything he wanted. He could get away with anything to; Dallas Winston was free and I craved his freedom. _You crave him, too, _a sly thought passes by, and my cheeks burn just at my own thoughts.

"You don't like him," I tell myself. "You hate him. He's bad news; everyone says so. He wouldn't bring you anything but pain. Greaser boys aren't made for Soc girls to love."

I tell myself that over and over again; I've been told I'm not a good liar. I can believe that at the moment.

It hurt to say that Greasers aren't made for falling in love with; it was such a segregation. I didn't enjoy it; I was supposed to be against it. I am against the clique discrimination, but I needed to believe that they were trouble for now. I didn't even know Dallas Winston fully - just what everyone else made him to be.

They tell me he's bad news; they tell me he's a hoodlum. Cherry says he's a flirt. I heard at school once that he "offers the best one night stands." It made me shudder; now my cheeks just flooded at the thought.

He was a flirt; he was a drunkard. He was a basket case, and that made me realize that that is part of the reason girls like him. He's mysterious, and strong; he doesn't talk about his past much.

It was drawing me in. _He _was drawing me in, and he probably couldn't remember my name. I wish secretly that if I ever saw him again he'd remember.

But Dallas Winston doesn't keep track of the girls he has falling for him, because he doesn't know about it. He doesn't know about girls who he hasn't even banged talking about him. And if he did - which I was puzzled on - he probably didn't care.

_Don't be stupid, _I bite mentally. _Of course he knows. And I'm not even supposed to be thinking about him! I have a boyfriend. You will soon, at least. _

"Mary Kate!" practically screams my mother as she busts through the door. I jump at least ten feet in the air and scream along with her.

"Oh, my Golly," I breath, my hand over my racing heart. "What?"

She frowns. "Don't get an attitude with me," she says. "I can't help you weren't ready. Anyways..." and she goes off on a whole rant about what's going on.

I stare at her while she does. My mother didn't _care. _She didn't _care _what I was thinking about; she didn't _care _how I felt. But she _knew _I wouldn't be able to not listen to her. She knew I was going to do exactly what she said, in the exact same way she ordered me to. All because I was Mary-Kate Elizabeth Roberts. I did anything anyone asked me to do, usually without complaint aloud.

"...and are you even listening...?" she asks, irritated.

"Yes, ma'am," I answer.

"Then what did I just say?"

"Something about a date with Travis Anderson."

She narrows her eyes. I can tell she's mad she didn't catch me in the act of actually not listening. She was pleased, too, however; happy that she has one child who's gonna be the perfect girl she wanted. Beth had given up on that a long time ago, and I was destined to be whatever it was my mother needed.

"Alright," she relents. "Get up, start a shower for yourself and I'll pick out an outfit for you."

I bite back a whine of, "No," but hold it in with a grim nod of my head at her wishes. I slip out of the covers, and walk into the shower, my mother following to get to my shower. I stay in for a while - trying to hold back from getting back out for as long as I could.

"Well, get out," snaps my mother impatiently. "You need to get ready."

I hold in a sigh, and shut off the water before stepping out and grabbing a towel. I could practically feel the judgement in my mother's eyes and I wanted to scream. I dry off and see the clothes she laid out for me.

It was a white sleeveless button-up shirt with pearls along the collar, along with a bright yellow skirt which I tucked the shirt into. I put pearl earrings on, and my mother stepped behind me, straightening me out even more than I already was.

"A lady walks straight, never bends," she tells me. She grabs a brush which she runs through my hair. I enjoy it for a moment; it was like I was a little girl again, with a caring mother who hasn't let power run her wild just yet. The type of child whose mother is there to help with every scraped knee, with every messy hair day. But I'm not that kid anymore, and she is not that woman anymore. It hurt, it hurt, but it happens; people change and times evolve.

She french braided my hair and I wince slightly at the feel of her sharp fingernails in my hair. It took over half an hour for her to be done. We didn't talk, just stood as she did my hair. I could tell she was only doing this for her, not for me; she used to tell me when I was little I couldn't go out of my room until I was ready, because I was a lady and we always had to look presentable.

"I'm done," she says, her voice emotionless. She had a blank look on her face and I turn around to see what she did.

It was two french braids, which she braided together at the base of my head near my neck, creating a braid bun. It was a wonder how my own mother, who didn't do anyone's hair but her own, knew how to do things like this. I smile at her, and she smiles back; it's like a stab to the heart.

"I like it," she tells me. "Looks good on you. Now, let's go," and she leads the way out of _my own room. _I seethed a little inside at how she flipped so easily. One second she was complimenting you and the next she was treating you like a little kid. There would never be any winning over my mother, no matter that I acted like the perfect child she wanted.

I walk down the stairs, and see Kylie cleaning the bottom railing. She looks up at me as my mother walks by, and I felt like breaking down at the expression. It was an _are-you-okay _face, one I would only get from her. She acted more like a mother to me than my real mother; she actually cared.

I swallow these bitter feelings and put on a brave face, and walk through the kitchen door with a nod at Kylie to tell her I was okay. Her face remained worried, and I felt a pang that Kylie was the only one who cared. I loved Kylie, but I wish I had someone else who cared.

The thought of - again - Dallas Winston flashes before my eyes, and I swallow. _He would never care, _I tell myself. _He doesn't care about anyone. _

The memory of the vulnerable part of him he had in the alley flashes before my eyes.

_His blue eyes are unfocused, and a little wild; they scare me ten times as worse as usual, the fire of hatred still burning._

_He shoves away from me. "God," he laughs. "Johnny, goddamnit. Johnny. Johnny was scared of what I could do, too." He runs a hand through his blonde hair._

Johnny Cade, I realized. Dallas probably cared about Johnny Cade.

Johnny Cade was dead now; died a hero, from what I read in the articles. With Johnny dead, I wondered if it weakened Dallas anyhow. If he actually cared about the sixteen year old, it had to have affected him somehow. I recall the hazy glaze over his eyes in that moment, and a shiver runs through my body. Johnny Cade was dead, and I had a feeling Dallas Winston - notorious hoodlum, crazed fighter, angry player - died a little to.

I find myself thinking about the blue-eyed boy, who has a fire of hatred in the sky blue that is his eyes. I find myself thinking about messy light as white blonde hair, and a I-don't-care-aura. Dallas Winston managed to consume my thoughts in the last day, and it was starting to worry me.

_You're a taken woman, _I tell myself. My heart screams at me, _Not yet! Tell her! Tell mother what I really think of dating Travis! Maybe she'd understand..._

_But she won't, _my logical side fights back. _She doesn't understand. She never will, unless it's something she'd do. _

"Mary-Kate," snaps my mother's voice. "Eat your breakfast and then go spend time with Travis."

"Yes, ma'am," I say, just loud enough for her to here. I walk into the kitchen and almost collide with Kylie. She had her ear up against the door, and I knew she had been listening. Her eyes looked haunted, a sadness that was hard to understand in her eyes.

"Sorry, Kylie," I apologize. "Didn't see you there..."

She rolls her eyes teasingly, but her sadness remains. She gently holds onto my shoulder, leading me deeper into the kitchen. Her eyes haunt me, and I wonder what made them like that. All she did was listen to my mother and I talk; that shouldn't have caused all of it. I felt as if there was something else making her like this; as if she was remembering something that happened.

"Why are you sorry?" she whispers. "Girl, I'm the one that's sorry. None of this is fair. You don't deserve this. Why do you put up with this? It ain't fair; _it ain't fair. _Tell that woman who's supposedly your mama that you don't need this. Tell her no; tell her to leave ya alone."

"I'm sorry," I whisper. Tears prick in my eyes. "God, I'm so sorry. I just...just..."

She pulls me in for a hug, and I accept it. I'm shaking but I'm not crying; I can't cry. I can't, goddamnit. I had to stay strong. I hated myself for it, for not being able to be someone I want to. I hate myself for never saying no when someone asks me to do something. I hate myself for trapping myself in situations like this.

_Fuck her, _my mind screams. _Fuck her. Tell her you can't. _

But I know I'll never be able to do that, so I stay in Kylie's arm. I curse myself for being _so damned weak, _and I pull away. Kylie didn't deserve to try and help me with my problems. Nobody did; nobody deserves to have all of this dropped on them.

I want to scream. I just wanted to yell until I couldn't make any noise anymore, and punch a wall. God, I was so fucked up. What the hell did I do to deserve this? Why was I such a fuck-up?

"Shh, now, Miss Mary," Kylie soothes. "S'all gonna be okay in the end. You know that, right, chile?" She grabs my hands and forces me to look into her eyes. They were filled with concern, and that made me feel even more guilty than before. I couldn't sit here and cry to Kylie; and she couldn't tell me to do something that we both know I couldn't do.

"Yes," I tell her.

We both know it is a lie. We don't say so out loud, but we know. She hugs me once more, and I pull away, and do the thing I do best:

I force a smile.

* * *

"So," says Travis, "I was figuring we could do the date tonight."

We were walking through the park, the sun beating down on us. Birds chirped in the trees, and I could hear the low, faint rumble of cars in the distance. Lawnmowers grumble to life, and music fills the air. It would be beautiful if I weren't still so upset. I tried to cover it up, but I was a nervous wreck as I walked along with Travis Anderson.

We stopped walking and I look at him.

"Sure," I tell him. "Sounds great. I can't wait." I smile at him.

He grins back, but when I look his eyes all I see is fakeness. I could tell he didn't want this either, but both of us were together for our parents. I was a girl he didn't even like, or care about; he was a boy that I was with by force. We were together as we fell into our parents plot, and I thought that maybe he would be someone who was okay to be friends with. I knew that would be as far as we went, friends.

I tell myself that we're in the same boat. We don't exactly love each other the way our parents need us to, but we could care about each other in friendship if needed. I didn't feel close to him at the moment, and neither did he. It was awkward, and love was vacant in this relationship.

"Drive in movies," he hums. I swallow; people did..._things _at the drive in movies, don't they? I try and tell myself Travis isn't like that, but I wouldn't put it past him.

"Okay," I agree excitedly. If anything, I was nervous. I had to pretend I was _excited _to go, excited to be with him. Excited to kiss him, excited for him to be my boyfriend. In reality, it was tearing at the seams of my heart, and making me bleed distaste for him. Distaste for all of this, really; I didn't want this.

_But you have to do it, _my logical side hisses. _Less drama in the family that way, yes? No arguing with your mom. She'll always get what she wants, anyways. _

"So," Travis says as we resume walking. "Tell me about yourself."

Damnit.

"I have two siblings, but you know that," I laugh. "I recently turned sixteen. I like reading, and I'm quiet. Sorry if it seems I don't want to talk sometimes. I really do, it's just..." I trail off. "I'm shy. I'm not good at these types of things. Doesn't mean I don't like you, I promise. I do..."

"It's alright," he says with a flash of a smirk. He suddenly pulls me up against him, wrapping his arm around my waist. I want to cringe, but I hold it in. "Well," he starts. "I'll tell you about myself now."

He goes on to tell me all about how he's the captain of his football team, he likes partying, and he has a "history," with girls, if you will. It disturbed me greatly, so I awkwardly laughed. _Is he trying to make me jealous or...? _

"Well," I interrupt what I hope was sweetly, "Sounds cool. We really should be getting back. I'm awful sorry to interrupt, it was really interesting to hear about it, but I had something I wanted to do..."

"No problem," he tells me. A silence falls between us, but is replaced by Travis starting to talk again. I want to scream "Do you ever shut up?" but held it in.

I curl my fingers into my hand in fists, which I cross behind myself. Once we reach the house, I was actually surprisingly happy to get away. Thank God I had my own room to go to.

I walk up the stairs as fast as possible, while looking like I wasn't in a hurry. I close the door softly behind me and lean against it. "Thank God," I whisper to myself before sighing.

I walk over to my bed and slam myself into it, my head buried into my pillow. I scream lightly, not loud enough for anyone to hear the muffled noise. I couldn't believe all of this.

I mentally curse Beth. I hate her, God, I hated her. She wasn't the one who had to pretend to be perfect. She could've, she could've acted like she was perfect and I wouldn't be doing it now. If she hadn't been so wild...

_It's not Beth's fault, _I think . _It's my mother's. _

I tell myself that over and over, but each time it became more of a lie to myself. I feel myself drifting away from my family, more and more with each thought that passed. I tell myself that I'm still the same kid I was a year ago, who trusted everyone with her whole heart/

But each time it became more of a lie to myself.

* * *

Bright lights flashed through the drive in, and I knew it was a busy night. We pulled up into a dark spot, a few cars on either side of us. Travis rolls down the windows, and the pulls a speaker in so we can hear. It's silent as we watch a movie, and I feel myself grow nervous when Travis drapes his arm across the back of my chair.

I squirm, trying to find a comfortable position to stay in, but eventually give up. I feel his eyes on me as I struggle. I clip off my seatbelt, and announce, "I'm going to get some popcorn. Want anything?"

"Yeah," he says. "Get me a Coke and a popcorn, too." He hands me the money, and I turn and hop out of the car.

I walk as slowly - but casually - as I can, in hopes of taking a while to get back to the car. I wanted to prolong the trip as much as I could. I couldn't stay in that car this whole movie; I'd go insane. It was too stuffy, and it made me feel physically trapped. It didn't help that Travis was trying to "pull the moves on me," as Cherry would say.

As I'm walking past the seats, I hear familiar voices. I slow down even more.

"...saw her here..."

"...hope she's not..."

Chills ran down my spine when I heard, "She's right there, idiot."

I turn my head and look around, my eyes wide. That's when I spot them. It was Ponyboy Curtis, Two-Bit Matthews, and Dallas Winston. They were staring right at me.

Oh, shit.

**Hey, guys. Enjoy the update xD Sorry for the randomness of my updating days. I'm gonna try and write one or two more chapters before next Sunday, because from then on I'll be completely busy in real life and might not be able to post. I promise to try, though; I'll try and update whenever I can. Thanks for understanding. **

**I do not own The Outsiders. All rights reserved, and go to SE. Hinton. I only own The Anderson family and The Roberts family (and DUke, hehe!) **


	11. Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

"He's a fucking _dog,_" Dally snaps. "Of course he'll be 'nice,' unless I tell him to attack someone."

I don't reply. I shake my head, and look at the wall with the window on it, and a sudden sadness washes over me. _God, he always has to be so unhappy, doesn't he? And he has to ruin things. _

Dallas is still glaring at me. He goes into his front pocket of his tawny leather jacket, and pulls out a cigarette and matches. He lit the cancer stick up and put it in between his teeth as he put the cigarette box and matches back into the pocket. He did it so smoothly - while a regular person would've struggled with opening the pocket - that you knew he'd grow accustomed to the same routine. Briefly I wonder if he smokes more than a box a day. No one in my family smoked cigarettes unless they needed one badly. Even then, they hardly did; my father smoked cigars, not cigarettes. I'd seen my mother a couple of times put on a cigarette when she was mad about something, and drink wine until she was tipsy.

I ran a hand through my hair; I didn't like arguing with people, which is why I stayed silent. I see no point in fighting if it gets you nowhere; I see what it does to people and it makes me silent. There was nothing worth arguing over in a situation like this; there was nothing worth fighting over against the Greasers and Socs. It made me sick to my stomach, and I remember all the holes in the walls. I shift uncomfortably, and I feel Dally's eyes on me.

He suddenly lets out a bark of sadistic laughter; the kind of laughter that let me know he was pissed but that it was all one big joke. That _I _was a big joke to him.

"You know," he drawls, as he pulls the cigarette out of his mouth. Smoke blows out from his mouth, and swims through the air. "It really pisses me off. _You _really piss me off."

I cross my arms uncomfortably, and shift from foot to foot. If he was pissed off at me... I didn't know what he would do. He couldn't hit a girl, could he? He had to have some sort of morals...some type of rules for his fighting? I shuddered visibly, and Dally rolls his eyes.

"See, just that," he says. "You act all anxious around everyone. Like you're dying to impress someone; why the fuck do you gals do that? Ain't nobody give a shit about what the fuck you do." He places the cigarette back in between his lips, and puffs out smoke.

"Gotta get tough," he mutters. I wasn't sure if that was directed at me, or if he was talking to himself. His blue eyes were clouded over, his emotions overwhelming. They were all placed his eyes at one time. Anger, hatred, sadness, longing, and passion. "Damn the kid. Left me."

I clear my throat. I had a feeling I wasn't supposed to be seeing him like this, and I knew he'd be pissed if he kept going on and I didn't stop. He'd be pissed that I even heard him mutter words like this. Words that portrayed his true emotions he was feeling, about sadness and the desire to have the one person he liked back.

He snaps his head up, and his eyes bore into mine. I swallow, and wring my hands, unsure of what to say. I look down at my shoes, and I feel the thumping of his combat boots against the floor as he gets closer. My heart was beating fast fast fast and all I could think was, _Oh my God he's close. _

Something inside of me snaps and I now understand why people say Dallas Winston is a heartthrob. He was so beautiful and handsome that it could make a girl squeal, but that's something I'd never do in front of him. That'd be something I never did over _anyone _because this was wrong and I was practically betrothed to Travis in a way. Isn't this cheating? We were still technically "dating," despite what happened earlier.

"Mary," he breathes. My mind immediately snaps back to the fact that Dallas Winston is standing in front of me. His hand is on my chin, and I could feel his callouses. His hand was cold and pale. It was huge, though; it easily held my head up and I was forced to look into Dallas Winston's eyes.

Wait, why is his face getting closer?

_Because he's moving closer, idiot! _something in my mind screams at me, and his blue eyes are fluttering down, brushing against his cheekbones they were so long. His face looked angelic in that moment, but that doesn't help me in the fact that his lips were less than a centimeter from mine.

They crashed down on mine, and all I could think was, _Dallas Winston is kissing me. _

**I know, I know. "You were away for almost a month and that's all we get? What kind of author are you?" **

**I'm truly sorry; I know this is probably terrible but this was all I wrote when I was on vacation. I promise that the next chapter will be back to the original length of my chapters. Again, so sorry for the wait and the length. **

**I do not own "The Outsiders," in any way. All rights go to SE. Hinton. I only own Mary Kate, The Anderson Family and Mary Kate's family. (And Duke, hehe ;D)**


End file.
